The history lapses, present endures in its stride and the time goes on,
Fresh leaves conceal the trees and the parched ones are gone;
With the wheel of life running to pace, destiny is ought to play its part,
It forces one to cut stiff bars, and for other defines fine work of art;
Every tinkle of running clock brings a new lesson to study,
We may be subtle or robust, plays its game to make us ready;
Passing ages leaves the mark to traverse the future route,
Makes the lane to let us chuckle, or trigger the faces mute;
Brilliant sparkles pervade the present,
Turns to burning ambers, from ridge we descent;
Perhaps the turn leads the trail in splendid direction,
Where we find the end knot to our conviction;
Who has ever combat with time,
Or won destiny before the crime;
The vicious circle swivel eternally to frame our life,
At times its squashy as froth, the other is spiky as a knife.
