Decay

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Decay

Swift-footed Time, how eagerly you go

Across the swaying summer grasses bed

As on in breathless haste you hurry me

To Winter with its chilling winds and snow.

The noontide hour is fading⁠—in my hair

The furtive shadows caper and recline.

I tell my beads of amethyst and gold

So near at end, so passing dear and fair.