The Page We Write Life's Poem On...

its parchment is like grass spread earthy-green with petal-fray

it catches fancy footwork where life and death intersect

and flowers before eyes in masterpieces of decay

for soon the hour spills its bloom to tombs hunger-bedecked

its scribble sheet of cold and heat and dirt in fingernails

hails blue sky tent pitched overhead like heaven’s giddy grin

where we lug have-and-hold sometimes like seed-potato pails

sometimes like gold pilfered to vaults cradled in carts of skin

its gifted ink of pastel pink on dusk’s pastoral leas

of winter-bronze on polished ponds as black heaven grows dim

of moody blue and ruby hues and saffron-tickled seas

is like four-season beauty of trees etched on twilight’s scrim

its vellum is a star-strewn middle night, an afternoon

of landscaped thoroughfares begging to feel the touch of feet

the page we write life’s poem on is like a slice of moon

enticing us to pen another verse of Bittersweet

© Janet Martin