There will be a time
When time will end
When it won’t snitch
With no more tales to tell
And no more wings to fly
When today and tomorrow will pass
Then age will not matter
And seasons won’t be observed
The time is coming
And it beckons nigh
When days will be erased
And counting months will be a mistake
Then even years will be meaningless
But before that time comes
When time will be buried
And an ode written for it
Accompanied with a ballad
I will make it useful
By doing what I ought
Making each second count
So when it’s end comes
Or by peradventure, mine comes first
It will tell tales
Of a purpose-accomplished life

(c) Chukwudi I.

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