Time is wasting and wanting for some.
And so the poet makes a writing and soon thinks he is a writer and then he gets ideas and becomes a poet once again.
The man who comes to this library is a fairy eye have no doubts that his feet do not always reach the floor. He even drives a car. His time is not his own. He has luncheon and even laundry to consider perhaps its Tuesday and he has to give his DOG a bath. He may come in to the library to play computer but then in record time he is soon going out again for his very time is gone. Timer.
