Tick-tock, tick-tock she tiptoe walked
towards my door
and knock knocked
with no cough, or impediment of any doubt
in her voice when she talked:
"Can't you see your time is running out?"
And then
tick-tock, tick-tock, she tiptoe walked
away knock knocking on her way out
on the floor made of wood
oscillating like the cradle of time
being unrelentingly rocked
in the hands of motherhood,
like a rounded clock
sheltered on my shelf,
like a skelf
in is Lilliputian racecourse
was running after an clandestine elf,
running like a kitten
chasing
herself
for evermore,
as
if she would never get thereafter
the cause of my laughter,
for,
she already held
what she was
running after.
