Universal Betrothal

We rebel to the knell of years in vain

Betrothed, as if it were to Father Time

Where none escapes the clock's possessive chime

But learns to grapple with its startling reign

We cannot quell the toll that sweeps the earth

From sprout to golden wheat to harvest hymn

The light on eastern skyline soon grows dim

As daily death usurps dawn’s daily birth

What have we here, but hints of Something More?

Where Something More makes worth the while of this;

The laughter dear, the tear of farewell’s kiss

Where little tittle, Time, is but a Door

Darling, life’s eventide is ebbing near

-er, nearer with each rise and set of sun

Soon dies the Thing we thought barely begun

Set in a silhouette of yesteryear

We, beg and borrow shod, are each denied

Access to the entrance where echoes cling

To tatters of an ever-fraying string

That soon points out the pointlessness of pride

Therefore we, kindred folk of circumstance

Because of our betrothal to tick-tock

Should make the most of its ephem’ral stock

And live as if This might be our last dance

© Janet Martin

 Man, who is born of woman,
            Is short-lived and full of turmoil.

      “Like a flower he comes forth and withers.
            He also flees like a shadow and does not remain.

Job 14:1-2