Dandelion
In mysterious oddity
This precious commodity..
Time.
It marches. It whistles it's way down the track.
It passes, it flies.
We can never go back.
We can spend it and share it
Or selfishly hoard.
It's sand through our fingers..
Like glue when we're bored.
Time.
It's a God given gift..
At it's best when we share.
We can blow it and sow it
Like seeds in the air.
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