Thursday, November 20, 2014


Sometimes she does not look for fear she cannot bear The Truth
Its stoic nature does not brush the air with softer lies
Nor does it change its mind; Time’s short attention span the proof
That there is always more to everything than meets our eyes

Thought's boulevard of memories is crowded; echoes flirt
Where once young glances touched across a slip of summer sea
But we are casualties of clock-tick-tock, its common hurt
Reflected in the hungry eyes of others quite like she

The sweetness of soft kisses, lilting laughter, setting sun
The briefness of glass slippers, princess gowns and apple-blooms
Startles her brave attention where Time's ownership becomes
A mirror where the aftermath of hours spill their plumes

Be careful, daring dreamer, you are not above the rest
Time’s gifted charter flowers into faded photographs
Sometimes she does not look for fear she overlooks life’s best
The brush within her hand that daily signs its autographs

© Janet Martin

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