In this continuum called life,
as I grow old everyday,
I loose the track of time.

I am somewhere between,
the writings of the time past,
and those faint rumors of the future behold.

I am confused looking out of the window,
as to what time in the evening I am,
for this evening is the same as the last,
hadn’t this moment just passed me by?

I sometimes miss the child I used to be,
his hope I miss the most,
for it is one of those things,
that are just a bit harder to come by.

I try my best,
to spot the snowflakes and gather ’em,
even though they melt in my palm,
so that they seep down my memory.

In this continuum called life,
as I grow old everyday,
I loose the track of time,
and I try to grab hold of something to remember it by.