Make your own free website on

Time absconds when I turn away.  I hear time go, but when I turn back around, time is gone.  I listen to time laugh softly, full of pity and condescension, while I grasp futilely at where it has been.
I made a net of nettles to capture time.  It hurts to hold (the net, not time); time is soft and slippery, like the wings of a moth.
My net is successful, time cries at its bondage.  I am not sure what to do with time; what does time eat?  I feed time honeyed milk from a raven's beak.
Time offers me a secret in exchange for its freedom. I find time unhelpful and a slovenly guest.  A secret from time is preferable to time secreted away.
Good-bye time, our bargain is struck.  I send time on its way with a bundle of caraway seeds and a thorn to remember me by.  What is the secret? Time will tell, or rather, time has told.
Time's secret is pleasant and it serves me well. The secret is content, but gets jealous if I tell.