We follow, as if you were our tour guide on a trip
And we, the wide-eyed sightseers trying to take it in
Up, up each trail, over loose shale and dips we slide and
slip
While wonder drips like a ripe peach regaling our chins
Where mist of morning like a pale silk cape drapes purple
hills
Where beneath noon’s blue-sky umbrella we serve bread and
tea
Where twilight is an open stage showcasing cricket trills
And midnight is a galleon that sails a raven sea
Our hearts are like deep pockets for tokens we want to keep
A broken bit of this, a golden that, a Thing or two
And oh, the art that we collect could fill night’s starry
sweep
Where only thought can resurrect its picturesque review
…as on we go and do not know where he will take us next
Over, under, across, around, onward-bound pantomime
Panting, laughing, sighing, praying, sometimes glad,
sometimes vexed
For we are wide-eyed sight-seers following Father Time
© Janet Martin
