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Poem by Ann Rutherford
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DATE:
April 21, 2013, 11:18 p.m.
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The clock is always ticking,
The hands are moving slow,
And yet it is surprising
How fast the hours go.
And when the hours turn to days
The weeks are passing by
It seems that time has sprouted wings
As the years begin to fly.
Each precious moment of our lives,
Is changed from "now" to "then"
Offered to us only once-
And never come again.
Ann Rutherford.
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