Wayfarer of Moments

 (one could almost feel the exploding vibration of cricket-song here this morning...)

Dear little child, you don’t know it yet

A moment to you is simply a breath

A necessary means

To reach The Beckoning ahead

Moments trickle and gleam

A subtly disguised requiem

As restless you dance

To the melody of a dream

You do not hear the rush

Moaning through wildflower woven hush

Pushing to an ever-expanding hollow

Disguised by living’s underbrush

Rivulets of pleasure and pain

Course through a transient vein

Sweeping through summer’s bower

In a rising-falling refrain

Run, dear little child, run

Your intangible deliverance has begun

Into the vexing arms of life

And the jaws of the waning sun

Nay fly, dear little child, I say fly

Leap from the reels in the spiraling sky

Lest your Moment deflates

And your dream-well runs dry

© Janet Martin

Victoria is always counting down to something...making lists, anticipating...