A continuous cycle,
As if they were wheels on a bicycle.
The lack of a pause button,
Neither a rewind button .
As you sleep it continues ,
Even on your death bed it hues .
Leaving no residue,
An assignment overdue .
What Am I?
So much of it ,
Yet so little of it ,
Nothing to hide beneath it ,
Neither can you repeat it .
What Am I?
16 May 23
