The Hand of Time

Kindly in time she removes the shards

And the thorns that mar her being

She softens realities once plain or hard

Until the picture we’re seeing

Glimmers; a sweet, soulful reverie

In a beautiful memory

The ‘good old days’ even now are being made

As daylight slips into the quiet dark

And as the echo of our hurried footsteps fade

Sealing in history their ethereal mark

We sense her stoical empathy

Preserving a beautiful memory

Surely the epitome of kindness forms her bearing

She does not care to keep our polished woes

Beneath her touch their ache is disappearing

As we hold the filament of mercy close

Gently, her brushstrokes help us see

Nothing, but a beautiful memory

© Janet Martin

Every autumn I am so reluctant to trim off the plants
in my flower-garden...
There is beauty in the broken and in blooms that weather the storm.