
On the third drop, the patrol's footsteps slipped a beat. Sixty years I've counted, and that gap wasn't there yesterday, nor the day before.
The patrol walked on schedule. Those footsteps were mine.
An old man's ear doesn't count as a record.
Sixty years now, counting the dawns.

On the third drop, the patrol's footsteps slipped a beat. Sixty years I've counted, and that gap wasn't there yesterday, nor the day before.

This water always stops at the same place. Sixty years watching it, you'd think I'd be used to it by now. Lately it just frightens me.