The sigh of a year rushes over my thought
Slipping like a tear to visages of naught
Unfolded moments are folded once more
Their visibility etched in a landscape of yore
Milky perception of all I should know
Taunts my reflection in Time’s glassy flow
Tragic indictments of haste’s foolish race
With tender enlightenment of love’s patient grace
Listen; can you hear it? Time’s flow does not stop
Nor the urge to keep reaching for an elusive top
The season of farewell slicks meadowland, tree
The blast of soon past haunts dawn’s tranquility
© Janet Martin
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!