Time poses as a ticking god

Engaged in forward creep,

And is revered by billions

Who rise, work, love and sleep.

But time is mere illusion,

Predictable and crass;

Relaxing on its lounger,

It makes us look an ass.

We race to catch the morning train

And stay late for the boss,

But when we need the slightest break,

Time will not give a toss.

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