The Way of Things...

We cannot keep the morning

From the afternoon

Nor quell the long blue shadow

Spilling from twilight’s spoon

We cannot pause the moment-rush

The bitter or its sweet

Nor keep the flower’s petal-blush

From falling at our feet

We cannot still the landscape

Charged with our hopes and dreams

Or bind the hour’s billowed cape

Filled with echoed requiems

But we can love, give thanks and pray

And weep if so we must

For soon the flower falls away

As dust returns to dust

We cannot clench the colors

Of seasons as they pass

Nor plot to save the hours

Surging through Time’s wee glass

We drink from founts of mercy

Its offering and then

The flower fades, all but the soul

Returns to dust again

© Janet Martin