A Door Wide Open...

The day recedes into the past

As night inhales its waning gleam

And into Time’s depleting stream

Our little deeds of day are cast

The miles and smiles of centuries

Stretch silently within the wake

Of moments; for we cannot take

From it but this; its memories

How still the rush of bleeding hours

How kind and cruel its ruthless flow

For none can see where moments go

So I must pause and smell the flowers

And I must pause to see the corn

A silver sea in noon-day heat

The laughter of a child is sweet

As on the breeze its lilt is borne

And as the dark curls o’er the day

And as the twilight curtain drops

Time does not slow and only stops

When it is far too late to say…

I wish that I had paused far more

To hold a child upon my knee

And listen long and willingly

Before the closing of its door

© Janet Martin