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Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end, Each changing place with that which goes beforeIn sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith, being crowned, Crooked eclipses gainst his precious pride And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow; And yet, to times, in hope, my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite your cruel hand.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

Time of reckoning

Time of reckoning

1 comment:

  1. "In the course of taking a second look at what the city has become, perhaps the urban sprawl cheek by jowl with rural conditions will provide a clear picture of how a political dynasty grown accustomed to the ways of wealth and power can easily run governance to the ground."

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