With slower, sweeter yen then let us dare
To climb where Time invites the limb to wear
Its colors preordained and none of us
Are able to evade its touch because
There is no detour round the ticking clock
Of spring-to-summer, fall-to-winter block
What derelict response to disregard
The edict of a Hand wiser by far
We cling to strings and tatters; summer’s rose
Is destined as are we to Death’s repose
The rubric of a thousand schemes is vain
Come now, tis futile to kick and complain
With slower, sweeter yen then let us drink
The ink of present-tense before the pink
Of slumber-set embellishes the west
And we relinquish it as the request
Of what is yet to be rouses a storm
Where we are subject to its moment-form
God’s pen is double-edged and deep and wide
Earth turns beneath His pledge of season-tide
Where we, His most beloved trample Time’s dirt
And often rush headlong into its hurt
Where there are no refills; dawn spills again
Come; let us drink with slower, sweeter yen
© Janet Martin
Almost breathless with anxiety I purveyed this week’s long
to-do list
and almost missed the sun as it kissed life’s highway with
gold
before climbing into its sky-yonder blue where every to-do
list will melt in its hold…
