An ode to vanity
To that which fades away.
A beautiful face
Doth become dust and gray.
Strapping youth
Skillful hands
Doth decay unrequited and crumble like sand.
Behold the ticking of the antiquated clock
Tremble not and fear not.
The seepage of time
Is fastidious and true.
Nothing to mourn
We all shall sleep still beneath the dirt.
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