Tick-tock , tick-tock
A snail is moving faster than the hour hand of this clock.
Fantasy when she closes her eyes might make it race,
But as long as Reality is taking place, time will move at a slow pace.
Being told there is excitement sounds almost like a dream,
That she is being missed is more to her than it may seem.
And what's happening inside, is something she can't show, it can't be seen.
Fluttering so fast ,
She's wondering where it is going.
How long will it last,
Or maybe the wind won't stop blowing.
The pretty version of the moth she had encountered,
Is now inside her fluttering, she is glad it found her.
-Jaqueline Herrera
I hope someone understands this poem.
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