Ode to Father Time

Dear Father Time...

I never tire of your ways...

Your sweet and sun-steeped golden days...(today, a balmy 20C)

Your contours, swaddled in soft grays...

Your landscapes, washed in pink...

A quick pit-stop for supper and off again)

Spring is like a dog straining wildly at its leash today!

I never tire of your ways

Your sweet and sun-steeped golden days

Your contours, swaddled in soft grays

Your landscapes, washed in pink

Your rough-and-tumble give and take

Your waves that sob and surge and break

Across shorelines that gleam and ache

With untamed poem-ink

I never tire of your hymn

It trembles in the barren limb

And throbs as buds begin to brim

With orchestras of green

With daybreak’s lilac-tinted sighs

And twilight’s gentle lullabies

With hellos, harboring goodbyes

With all that falls between

I never tire of your waltz

Your minuet and somersaults

Your promenade that never halts

But twirls me round and round

Till I am breathless with delight

Yet never tire of the sight

Of you, gilt-edged ‘gainst gath’ring night

Of a new day unbound

I never tire of your ease

Turning moments to memories

Taming my younger-hungered pleas

With humble thankfulness

My cheek against your stubbly chin

Ah, darling, how can I begin

To count your ways I cannot win

Yet love you nonetheless

© Janet Martin