"Time," Eugene Varnedoe, Fifth Grade, PS 22Q

I hate bedtime, when time blinks away.

Blinks away, like the warm days of summer.

Time is the bleak hall, full of timeless photos

Painting the walls as you go through.

The paint behind you peels off as you move

The memories slowly disintegrating.

Yet, what is time but the sister of age?

Is not dead paint remembered by its walls?

Does not the shattered glass memorate the cup?

What are we but boats, sinking in the lake

But do we ever show our wet skeletons?

Or do we never make another ripple?

On the great pool of everlasting time

Or do we decay in the mud of the pool?