But, In a poem

Soon you would be nothing at all to me

Forgot; thus I save you in poetry

Yesterday’s sun spilled in rivers of gold

Today the sky weeps metallic tears; cold

All that we hold is a bold, calloused wink

Save for a poem sealing whispers in ink

Then, in the sorrow of morrow’s today

Nothing can steal it forever away

Morning is eager to drink noon, then night

Time; a voracious tick-tock appetite

We cater to its appointments of air

Poetry pens its triumph and despair

For too soon all would be nothing at all

Lost to the ages where new pages fall

But, in a poem we traverse once more

Back to the faces and places of yore

Moment, be kind while the mind tries to find

and frame the right pieces we soon leave behind

© Janet Martin