Rambler of Moments

Ah, wayfaring rambler of moments

Where will we wander today?

The eaves of the skyline are heavy

With spring’s restless palette of gray

But I hear a song in its hollow

And I feel a tug in the air

Where pastures of winter-worn fallow

Beckon that we should come there

Time is a smooth operator

See how it cunningly slips

Over the cup of a season

It rushes, meanders and drips

And we are its wayfaring ramblers

Grasping the moments that seep

Through our ephemeral hunger

We laugh, love, worry and weep

And we think that we are too busy

To squander upon the south slope

An hour to commune with violets

Or other such emblems of hope

The brook-song released from its bondage

Tumbles through earth’s verdant lea

Charging no fee for our pausing

To list to its melody

Duty is a tireless master

And we are a whisper of dust

I think we owe it to nature

To revel in its wanderlust

© Janet Martin

Wander your moments wisely

They do not pass again