Time drips off its pendulum from three to four to five,
trickling off the minutes that we’ve been alive.
Vapid little seconds are flung off with each tick,
hardly ever noticed as their passing is so quick.
The richest man on earth cannot buy more than he’s accorded.
Hours can’t be put in storage and so they can’t be hoarded.
Days can’t be the building blocks of a fine estate,
for they are just chalk marks wiped daily off our slate.