Becoming Intimate With Father Time...

No, no amount of willpower will keep his kiss at bay

In Time, his silver starlet chaplet halos dreams of May

As scarlet undertow of come and go tinsels the trees

And petals fall like rainbow snow on summer’s plundered leas

Oft we forget the pirouette of moments; soft they splay

Then etch a silhouette of ether worlds on yesterday

In surreal outlines of a shrine which only thought can see

Ah, Father Time, you are a mime of tick-by-tock melee

The buttered side of bread, when we are fed leaves no reward

You strip the ‘buttered-side’ of us as seasons are out-poured

…and no one is immune to autumn’s swoon of brooding hue

Aha, aha we say, then gulp its noon of gray-gold-blue

Do you remember, dear, when we thought Here was long and slow

And we were anxious to vanquish the miles we had to go?

When did we start to feel the tug-of-heart where hunger wars?

As After envelopes the laughter of younger Befores

The quiet conquering of ages stages quite a show

The more we learn of love and life it seems, the less we know

So we content ourselves with living moments and not years

For one thing Time has taught us is how slick he disappears

© Janet Martin