Advice packaged in idealism is deceit,

Strive not to be rid of all regrets

But endeavor instead to be one with time

Occasionally the clock doth falter

A hiccup in time

We don’t glance ceaselessly at the hands,

Thus the disruptions escape our engrossed eyes

The clock we created is a picture of perfection

So effortlessly it marches on

An eternal part of the ambience

Oh but we are artists

Imperfections set us apart from clocks

They make us one with Time

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