Parade of Hours

Ephemeral, the staid parade of hours

A fleeting flit of poetry and prayer

Of white-capped field betwixt its yield of flow’rs

Of bones learning to bear time’s groan of air

While day breaks through the dark with ether gold

And spills to vaults a treasure none can hold

…but folds, as moments march, morning to noon

And noon to twilight whispers of goodnight

Ephemeral, both emerald of June

And boreal bestowal, silver-white

Sealing beneath iced steel, brook-melodies

Which mercy’s staid parade of hours frees

Winter’s frigid warfare will not abide

It too, falls prey to the parade of hours

And earth, wearing the color of a bride

Will soon birth darling dream-lands full of flow’rs

Meanwhile, we smile through bookish escapades

Of fireside adventures, page on page

Time’s beckoning becomes reckoning, swift

The Thing That Is fades to The Thing That Was

This stayed parade of hours is a gift

Not to be taken lightly; without pause

The law of tick and tock turns days to years

 Where everything that is soon disappears

© Janet Martin

Parade of Hours #2

(short version)

Look, there a baby

Ah, look, there summer's rose

Look, there a woman

Ah, look, there winter's snows