By Nigel Maycock from Market Harborough in Rutland (working in Corby).
With the quick snap of the fingers Another second flashes passed as if it were an hour And for a thousand years we watch And wait as each grain of sand Slips effortlessly Through the narrow slots That linger Halfway up the hourglass of life Because as we sit, or move Hoping to stop that pendulum of fate We weep yet again While listening To the uncompromising But rhythmic ticking Of that hidden clock That cannot be altered Or changed By any fraction, or belief When realising We cannot alter the futures' history.
