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The Mouse Whose Name Is Time
The mouse whose name is Time
Is out of sound and sight.
He nibbles at the day
And nibbles at the night.
He nibbles at the summer
Till all of it is gone.
He nibbles at the seashore,
He nibbles at the moon.
Yet no man not a seer,
No woman not a sibyl
Can ever ever hear
Or see him nibble, nibble.
And whence or how he comes
And how or where he goes
Nobody now remembers,
Nobody living knows.
Robert Francis
From
Robert Francis: Collected Poems:
1936-1976, University of Massachusetts
Press, © 1985. Reprinted by permission. |