Of Soon-seasoned Art (and first hair-cuts)

 There goes our Baby!

 Big-boy first hair-cut!

Don't hold on to Time; tis futile

embrace Now but not too tight

Feel moment-ous Marvel sparkle

Through our touch and out of sight...

How tender, each splendor of soon-seasoned art

Time draws us together and tugs us apart

It grants what is given and takes it away

Summer is soon riven with rivers of gray

How subtle, Time’s metrical moment-parade

Primed with the rebuttal of passion’s swift trade

A pitiless poet; Duty and Dream smart

Where one moves the hand and the other the heart

How certain, the curtain that rises and falls

Snuffing yon horizons with star-sequined shawls

Lifting its elusive veil to gift Today

Ah, always renewing and taking away

How red are the roses disposed to decay

How precious the pictures that frazzle and fray

How tender the tick-tock that startles the heart

With breath-by-breath splendor of soon-seasoned art

This temporal treasure we measure in years

Is naught but a vapour that soon disappears

Now's nuances trumped by the Hands that impart

 The Way back to Him through Time's soon-seasoned art

© Janet Martin