SANDGLASS.

When you’re in the centre
The beginning of the adventure
Seems as distant as the end;

The winning of the maiden
A secret that has faded
And is occasionally debated,

And though the meeting remains
Revered its ingredients are strained
Through the sieves of our days,

But when we veer towards
The precariously marked doors
We mix them together for all

Our various skills are worth
Into a plausible dough that earths
Us to the planet’s curves,

And forces more discussion
About the painful repercussions
That would result from pushing

Our aims too far apart,
And how the end would start
To resemble a tumultuous car,

Crowded with incompetent cooks,
Who should have looked
More closely at their clocks.