Monday, June 13, 2016

The Tale of Us



life is like a story written in a picture book
its best lines often hidden in small things we overlook
where time is like a rhyme that slips through lips we cannot hush
a bloom that seeps from budded plume, heart-soft, hard pull and push 

attraction and distraction and subtraction tally up
thrilling, filling and spilling over to past's willing sup
where you and I and they-is-was, are at the mercy of
the little jot and tittle that becomes the tale of us

winter is but the prelude to a summer soon subdued
the garden bares its heart ere it becomes dream-worlds unglued
the secret sorrows of the soul can seer one's best intent
aha, aha, we join the hordes who wonder where time went

tomorrow is pure innocence until it is today
time's pencil touches down and scrawls facts from its come-what-may
where life is like a story written in a picture book
the tale of us oft hidden in small things we overlook

Janet Martin

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