There is little that time has left
As it flutters by from place to place.
Indeed there is little that is left.
Of all the old ways and faces.
No, time has scrounge them all.
To something new and strange.
And even then, they will change.
Till the beginning is unrecalled.
She'll only twist and turn some more,
Always twittering and twining about.
But no matter what words we shout.
She'll listen not to us and go as she will.