"The Clockwork of Existence"

The hours pass, a constant trek;

on recordings, on lives, on loves.

After freshness, now fading,

Nowadays, everything fits under the clock above.

Milk sours, bread moulds.

Cabbage ages and grows cold.

The nasty joke the calendar plays is:

Once a treasure is now common sense.

But after it expires, discover beauty—

The beauty of the fleeting cherry blossom

Impermanence creates valuable.

Every instant, every hug.

Indeed, die but only once you have lived totally.

Too soon, let in the honey.

Since at the end we are all

Just borrowed atoms.

So move in the last of the light.

Laugh as the clock ticks and runs out.

For the taste of life, which is real.

And savoured as soon as the exes left.