Rather than count, I stare at the hands of time,
And I watched the courageous day die before the hideous night;
Which I saw one hold his lady like a violet past its prime,
And play with her black hair along with the grey and white;
He watched the lofty trees and how they swayed in the breeze,
Staring as if they were gods with their heads stuck in the sky,
His lips pressed softly on her skin to put her at ease,
the violet turns weary and tears fall from her eyes,
Then of her beauty did she discover in itself,
She must watch it fly among the waste of time, slowly it goes,
Since lovelies and beauties abandon themselves
And die as fast as they see other's grow;
     Know there is no such thing against time called defense
So save his love, for he is a brave man to enjoy the consequence.