Slower, slower and yet,
It does not stop.. yet.
Somewhat erratic,
Rarely erotic.
Older than Lincoln,
And the pyramids.
It does not measure
Nor feel pain.
Bending, when it must,
To forces that are indifferent
To beauty and grace.
Always reaching, never arriving.
We may ask for insight,
Believing there was a beginning
That will explain.
But understanding is not times domain.
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