If time could tell someone but me
I'd tell them to be swift, for all to see;
I'd listen close; the toll, the bell
And sink down to my private hell.
For what is hell if not my mind
With very little left to find;
No-one would search within my shell-
Now none remains in which to dwell
And much is lost, but something's found
In finding my feet on the ground.
And though I choke at every swell
I mostly loathe the tolling bell.