A Sonnet

I wake again and I find the night’s long gone
My rest was short, a painfully short rest
Now light takes to flight ere my works are done;
And those hands of Chronos I cannot wrest

This life truth is the saddest of them all;
That time is always running like a stream
Days could bore with work or nights’ calm enthrall
Yet tied to time, both are a fleeting dream

And so, I will not my life to poor time
Which morrow may be gone with all my gains
But to eternity I give my prime
And when time goes I pass on with no pains

To wake or sleep after, will hold no shame
Cos then both night and day will be the same