Wednesday, July 05, 2006


If I could trap time in an hour glass
If I could hold the world in the palm of my hand
If I could tuck eternity into my pocket
When oak leaves sweep across a cold, misty morning in an English countryside
With the dew glistening on the early morning grass
A worm crawls out of his pint-sized home in the ground blinking in the bright morning sunlight
But an early bird, living up to its proverbial status, cuts the worm's early morning sojourn short