Jots and Tittles and other Random Things

Poet's Place -Sonic Texturing

Run, run, run
Don't stop; don't rest
Hurry, hurry, hurry
One foot in front of the other.

What am I running from?
What will it matter?
Time waits for no one;
You cannot outrun it.

Run, run, run
You have to "keep up"
Do everything possible
To hold it at bay.

Body's age, deteriorate;
Some take longer than others.
But at the end of all things,
We are reduced to dust.