So many stood there, some a few moments, others lingering where laughter and chatter fell away in the panorama of thought...
Mute, maudlin melody murmurs from maple mandolin
We feel Time’s steel wheel tremor; seal its passage ‘neath our
skin
Ah, slow the hand that holds the ladle of Time’s moment-stream
The tree root cups the cradle of Something more than a dream
Morning is like a merchant bent on buying Time to sell
It primes the tides whereon we ride on frigates of farewell
It tips its grail and fills noon’s sail before it dips as
dusk
Devours hours until flowers fill its hull with husks
We stare where here-to-there unfurls a panoramic view
Green have-and-hold spills red and gold to Autumn’s avenue
Where once we laughed like virgin lovers strolling among
trees
Before we bore the war of more than unlearned fantasies
My, my the years fly by and still we are surprised by them
Wonder thunders within us as we stand upon the hem
Of Something far, far bigger than time’s ticking never-more
As heaven holds the ladle and the tree root frames a Door
© Janet Martin
