As the moments slip by though the hole slit in time, tokens dipped whole split and dry.
Like leaves of forgotten paths untouched and not crushed crumble while they whither.
Brushed aside, left to die, rotten laughs flushed by a blushing cry stumbling to not lie.
Intent sips fine wine while regret tips towards dying.
As things end sick, what’s right trips and is broken quick.