Found a poem in a coat that I bought

[insane]

In the inside <secret> pocket of my jacket was a small square of paper that read:
THE CLOCK
The Clock of life is wound but once
and no man has the power
to tell just when the hands will stop
at late or early hour.

To lose one's wealth is sad indeed.
to lose one's health is more
To lose one's soul is such a loss
that no one can restore.