Matrix of Moments

 

This tree never grew as tall as it should have yet tirelessly tells each season.

It seems it is dressing or rather, undressing for winter.

Brusque blue breeze runs its touch over tresses

Limbs once exuberant, lathered in gold

Have no where to hide; they brace for the cold

Dreaming of springtime and pretty new dresses

Solemn and soulful, a gleaned-garden dirge

Murmurs in echoes where summer’s song swelled

And children grew limber while their mothers held

To mute moments melting on Time’s soundless surge

The wind is a wanderer; a tired troubadour

Searching for music in each forlorn tree

Where is the sighing leaf-song melody?

Its notes snuffed and scattered on earth’s umber floor

Masterpiece moments amalgamate; merge

Amorphic matrix of laughter and tears

Falling in half-breaths to hours then years

Shaping a life as its patterns converge

© Janet Martin