subjective time

each Summer flits past briefer than the last
as if we're whirling faster 'round the sun
but it's not heaven's clock that's running fast
our spring, with passing time, becomes unsprung
as mass is spent producing energy
our angular momentum wastes away
those photons pilfer our patrimony
the force-constant is lessened, day by day
and yet, subjectively, it's just not so
we slip leap-seconds in because we must
compared to languid days mere years ago
these latter decades leave us in the dust
entropic death by increments arrives
a cosmic metaphor for dwindling lives