The lowest tide of time    once an overflowing ocean

Is now a draining draw.   Stolen by the child-house.

When I was a corgi-leg,   time tottered towards infinity.

Now time rushes to the end.   Where now, has it flowed to?

The unstoppable-trudge    does not fret over its deeds.

I yearn beneath the yews;   even they feel the rush of time.

Their fallen limbs decaying,   the wood-skin crumbling

Their tidal wave of time    is now a shrinking ripple.

Like our overflowing ocean     reduced to a draining draw.

I wish to return to    our glory days of time.

When we walked the waves,    the sand squeezed between our toes.

No reason to run towards    The vast endlessness of time.

Now we have lost our lively ways    speeding ever forward.

Into the black of the dream-state.   What graciousness did this bring?

There is only one more question:   where is our final place?    

Time gives me a promise.   “You will not be sorry.”

Thus far, time has not lived up    to its word-oath made long ago.

The days go by ever faster.   Where is my overflowing ocean?