Of Farewells and Kisses

No rustling of garments, no prints in the grass

No slamming of doors, yet how surely you pass

Hiding in daydreams, in midnight’s still dark

Brushing the morning and tuning the lark

You take our hand while we, quite unaware

Allow you to run rampant years through our hair

As we clutch the reins of duty and desire

You touch hills and plains with your autumnal fire

Ah, where do you come from and where do you go?

Where is the spigot from which moments flow?

Down from the heavens and out to a sea

Empires of soundless supremacy

No one can subdue your arabesque clout

Travail and triumph pour from the same spout

Yet in the mute, mystic, maddening sweep

Of constant departure, we find things to keep

Time; you leave tender trophies in your path

Echo of dances in your aftermath

Locket where laughter, love, learning and grace

Softens your stubble as you kiss our face

© Janet Martin