Of Gathered Bittersweet

They slip from our embrace

And we can never see

That final, phantom resting place

Of never-more-will-be

Falling like formless leaves

To scatter at our feet

We run thought’s whisper over sheaves

Of gathered bitter-sweet

Yet still Time’s seasons course

In reckoning and chance

The heart cannot dissuade its force

Compelling us to dance

Hope does not sleep in tombs

But spills in gifted thread

Finger and thought cannot exhume

Spent glory or regret

 The filigree of past

 And imminence compete

Falling through touch to rest at last

In gathered bitter-sweet

© Janet Martin

We reach, touch, but can never keep the essence of a moment~