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The blue of Time’s candor, like moody fall splendor
Sweeps in from without yet seeps out from within
It courts hurried hours and flings wide-eyed flowers
Into bygone’s bowers of gossamer skin
The blue of Time’s candor compels us to wander
Where summer-set settles, three seasons away
Each leaf, like a pencil, each stem like a poised quill
Spills sun-tattered verses of death and decay
The blue of time’s candor rolls through gated pasture
Its waves washing heart-ward with echo and whim
An ethereal ocean rises in slow-motion
It ravages laughter and landscape and limb
Time’s blue traipses over rose-rivers of clover
It unravels rainbows; blue will have its way
As sun-warm reflection dons cooler complexion
And blue of time’s candor turns gold silver-gray
© Janet Martin
