Thursday Thoughts on Things Time Cannot Change

Time cannot always change

Those things we wish it could

Perhaps it leaves bits of regret

To work for our good

***

Some view Past as a grave stone-cold

That nothing can exhume

While others simply see it as

Fond memory’s living-room

***

The future, none can tell

The Past is set in stone

The only thing worth anything

Is Now before it’s gone

***

Time changes everything given time

But it can never change

One day gone by yet day by day

Things change…now ain’t that strange?

***

Farewell June, hello July

My, how summer hours fly

Soon we will return to sigh

Farewell, farewell, sweet July

***

Sometimes, quite foolishly we wish

For something that is not

Then, while we wish, how sad is this;

We miss the thing we’ve got

***

Time is quite the trickster, oh,

Though it wears no disguise

Invisible, it steals the show

Before our very eyes

***

There will always be more questions

Than we have answers for

God loves to keep us guessing, if

Only to trust Him more

***

Janet~

June dissolved in a blaze of glory!

 

At The Close of June...

 I took a June farewell tour about the yard this morning...

Now summer’s primal flower fades

First green relents to golds and jades

To deeps of dust spring's lure is tossed

Still, nothing in nature is lost

Both tomb and womb, earth cradles Yore

Until Time wills its bloom once more

Soon we forget, for Time is such

Renewing joy beneath its touch

Where one tie binds, another breaks

And sets soft mists on summer lakes

And whets the appetite for tea

Set to the backdrop of blue sea

The loom that weaves Future to past

Grieves and delights earth’s rebel cast

For sight is such a hungry beast

And nature is an endless feast

Thus, though we mourn ‘the passing of’

We find fresh wonderment to love

© Janet Martin

To Our What Is...

What is, is all we have

What was and what will be

Are like horizon-lines and graves

Fruitless futility

What is, is worth our best

What is, is soon what was

As what will be, becomes what is

This sequence does not pause

Therefore, to our What Is

We should commit because

Who knows what What Is waits to be

When this what is, is Was

© Janet Martin

Lessons from the Birds

Like the lark

That fills the dark with song

Or the robin

That sings on a day, rainy-blue

Or the hummingbird

That drinks deep the nectar of life

Ah, we should try to live thus too

© Janet Martin

This antique-jar hummingbird feeder was gifted to me by some dear friends for my birthday a few weeks ago!
Thank-you, gals.
Your gift is appreciated by bird and bird-watcher:)

Brigadoon

Today marks the last day of school for Ontario's elementary students, and suddenly I heard the drone of locusts in willow arches overhead where my long-ago summer-girl days disappeared... 

'he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not' 

How large the summer days of childhood sprawled

Beneath bare feet its carefree pathways fell

Toward the future where a daydream called

And lured us from the brook and daisy-dell

Into that yonder due of no return

Where days seem bent on departure too soon

And every now and then we pause to yearn

For childhood’s swiftly-severed Brigadoon

Where, long and lean dusk’s shadows of farewell

Climb to, then through the place where echoes swell

How small the leap from there to here to there

It is hard to prepare for the unknown

Pity the one who has no time to stare

But pants headlong toward a cold gravestone

Though the rebirth of ancient summer charms

Abides; A rose is still a rose, oh my,

And in time’s daily death twilight disarms

With gold and draws its gate across the sky

Familiar panoramas disappear

Into the Brigadoon of Yester-year

We stand upon the centerpiece of life

Tomorrow, yesterday, ah, what are they

But chimerical, historical strife

Time’s most valuable asset is Today

And it will never come to pass again

This spending place of moments tries our hearts

With pieces of a picture, pleasure, pain

Like summer’s day, drops petals then departs

While we master the art of living well

And return to the brook and daisy-dell

© Janet Martin