Thursday, December 13, 2018

Of Soon-seasoned Art (and first hair-cuts)


 There goes our Baby!
 Big-boy first hair-cut!

Don't hold on to Time; tis futile
embrace Now but not too tight
Feel moment-ous Marvel sparkle
Through our touch and out of sight...


How tender, each splendor of soon-seasoned art
Time draws us together and tugs us apart
It grants what is given and takes it away
Summer is soon riven with rivers of gray

How subtle, Time’s metrical moment-parade
Primed with the rebuttal of passion’s swift trade
A pitiless poet; Duty and Dream smart
Where one moves the hand and the other the heart

How certain, the curtain that rises and falls
Snuffing yon horizons with star-sequined shawls
Lifting its elusive veil to gift Today
Ah, always renewing and taking away

How red are the roses disposed to decay
How precious the pictures that frazzle and fray
How tender the tick-tock that startles the heart
With breath-by-breath splendor of soon-seasoned art

This temporal treasure we measure in years
Is naught but a vapour that soon disappears
Now's nuances trumped by the Hands that impart
 The Way back to Him through Time's soon-seasoned art

© Janet Martin 



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