Slow down, the song of living lilts in day by day
appeal
Each morning like a madrigal of mist-spun amethyst
Its hour, like a flower blooms then falls beneath a wheel
Of virgin compositions that we hardly know exist
Slow down and listen to the tune of moment-metered grace
Where haste of hungry days devours spring-bowers with ease
Its green-field hallelujahs turn to bronze; bygone’s embrace
Unwilling to relinquish anything save memories
The genesis of what remains dwindles with every breath
Its skylines running over with carols we often miss
Slow down; revere this prelude to life’s last performance,
Death
Love's song of living lilts and tilts toward time’s farewell
kiss
God grants us Chance; we should slow dance where seasons
stilly sweep
And stun the sun that runs awry on twilight’s diadem
This band of marching footsteps should slow down its headlong
leap
Lest we trample on melodies that will not play again
© Janet Martin
