Thief in the night

Little hampster, running, running
round and round, faster and faster.
When will he stop?
He doesn’t know.

The thief in the night robs on the quiet;
snatching and taking with no remorse.
Face in a frame, frozen, immortal
cannot escape him.

The gutsy wail of a newborn babe
and the resigned sigh of an old man.
Top to tail in the face of an hourglass;
fine sand slips through fingers of flesh.

Futility clutches at straws;
while youth takes her last bow.
And in the blink of a mortal eye
He stops the clock.

Thief in the night

Janine Fynn

Cape Town, South Africa

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