Time’s sickle fells hours
Where flower and field
And bent orchard bowers
Shower earth with yield
Man grapples with learning
A yearning-shod chase
Of kind no-returning
His journey, pure grace
…while feet trample ages
Time wages its will
Washing dirt-hurt pages
Until it stands still
Futile to resist it
Its mist-morning swell
Though kindly we kiss it
Insists on farewell
….time’s sickle fells hours
And no one can keep
What never was ours
Flowers and fields sleep
© Janet Martin
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!