The voice of time is in hollow of my leg
the greenwill of time
conceal in the ticking of conscience
you could not be self-restraint
if the march of dillema is in dateless
the dean of dew of morning
raise through the coolness of dawn
small ants carry the sugar from simple
the secret of success lives
in the hand of clock
the time still hides in the face of moon
the sneakening of minutes is a success
and speaking of time is a doom
the giant is really in brow of time