Sonnet II

Time is a witness to all our follies,
Ticking like the clanging of raging swords,
Judge of the valiant among waging hordes,
The poet from quiescent, mute valleys,
A rigmarole in vivacious narrow alleys,
The jester in regal crystal courts
Supine monarchs in gold breeches it abhors
And unleashes a fury – Harsh and cold
In marshes of woe, it writhes and descries
Those weak of mind; only one prevails –
Who knows patience is a virtue of old
And by toil and hope arduously abides,
Thus and only thus does time tell his tales.

Picture: The Canterbury Tales