A number .... a certain number;
Rife, abundant, copious thick .....
A million and one creeping and crawling,
Not easily stopped by shaking a stick.
Only a handful, scarcely a middling,
Sparsely scattered, barely a few ....
A precious little, skimp and sprinkled
Here and there push thinly through.
Till over and over, again and again,
Many times round ..... the echo rings
Tedious, monotone, without a dingdong:
Until it becomes a harped upon thing.

Into the infinite, the inclusive dark,
Knowing no bounds: bow without stern.
Thru the eternal void, they untold go:
End without end, on without term.

TIME and AGE

I am that bald sexton of Time,
Nurse and breeder, devourer of things.
Author of authors, spinner of all,
Summer sun and winter wind ....

I am timeless ... sine die;
A neverness of blue moon days.
I am the moment, the last millennium,
The era, the epoch, the aeon ....

I am the age that spans and stretches
The swing of season, spell and shift,
The kalpa ... yuga ... manvantara,
Day, date, duration, stint.

You all have your innings,
Your whack ... and your go,
Your bout ... and your stretch,
Your spell filling in for ...