A moment passed
not proud at all.
I reached back in time
to correct an errant thought.
To find the thought
was to err some more
and keep that thought alive,
my purpose not at all.
“’tis past,” said Time,
“Why would you, now,
have it rule again?”
Correct the past?
Create, now, the thought,
supreme.
Such is the mischief of Time.
Think now, think now,
the best of all.
Thus is a future formed.
Every now and then a bit of verse muscles its way in. The Gnome must be around.
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