Musings on Life, Love, and Linguine-Poetry & Writing
Time, so precious here and now in the winter of my life as I ponder what I’ve done and what I’ll leave behind
The illusion of time when we are bound to the ticking hands or the ancient hourglass counting the weeping sands
Her spring curls wound tight upon her coifed head she was the mistress of time and took him to her bed.
-By Linda Lee Lyberg Though we may yearn for time to pause In these our bewitching hours The trials we brave are for cause
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