Dmitri Allicock

Extrait

Time is a sort of river of passing events they say
No sooner is a thing brought to sight is swept away
And another will come on the tide to take its place
Again to be washed away with time that has no face

A river flowing with memories like grains of sands
From the shallows to the deep from where I stand
And for a precious moment as it runs on through
I think of time and my ancestors that I never knew

…