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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.

[artist]


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