Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Of Bloom-buttoned Grass





Nothing stays
The clocks betrays
Our silly ways
Of holding on
It strips with ease
The clapping trees
Hiding in seas
Of dusk and dawn

Nothing remains
Though thought unchains
Fragmented strains
Of season-art
Bloom-buttoned grass
Alas, alas,
Beguiles the lass
To trust her heart

Nothing will last
Future and past
Embrace the gasp
Of all we hold
Then, love today
For who can say
Which ‘come-what-may’
Waits to unfold

© Janet Martin

1 comment:

Thank you always for your visit and your thoughts.