Clock Symphony
Time that bringes all things to light,
Doth hide this thinge out of sight,
Yet fame hath left behinde a story,
A hopefull race to shew the glory:
For underneath this heape of stones,
Lieth a percell of small bones,
What hope at last can such impes have,
That from the wombe goes to the grave.
John Frederick Nims
Subscrever:
Enviar feedback (Atom)
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário