She The Clock

Oh time may groan as though she were woman
Refined in spite and left to do the work
And taken tolls of blood and fruiting sperm
The line was crossed at birth to bow to man

Inside her forming babies, young humans
No wonder times she seems to go bizerk
I’d ponder that I’m useless then she’d smirk
In joy to see me true to her command

And she will wear away all that is grand
I feel I am a worn unwanted shirt
She’ll wear the day she’ll stay inside to slack
And others play the sky is grey and blurred

And thus the clock will tick and ruin days
My haze will make me sick if I’d betray


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