Indeed, as one gazes at the image and notes the thinnest hand slicing away the seconds, one can feel them escape. I shudder to think about them---from their eternity of waiting for their moment of liberty finally to arrive. And once gone, they will never return.
The moving finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
—The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam as translated by E. Fitzgerald
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