A Letter to Time.

Laughter.
Galloping between warming rays
it echoes through the still
of a quiet afternoon.
Child unburdened, mind untamed,
curiosity insatiable that feeds
her wandering thoughts.

Each moment drips with hesitation
as she waits for you to pass;
like bittersweetness from a hive
you quicken at your own pace.
Minutes stretch to hours, hours into days,
eager is she for the years to pass,
longing is her heart for freedom.

Soon spring arrives,
ripened with verdant green,

like blossoms unfurling upon the breeze
she spreads her timid wings.
Each hour revealing, each day a new age,
boundless fields before her,
pirouettes on a promised stage.

But suddenly you hasten,
remaining ahead of her strides.

She pleas for you to turn for her
as she chases each moment elusive.
Years rush through like seconds,
seasons shrink to days,

what once sprightly danced upon tender leaves
soon slow to staggering gait.

Now standing alone under winter sun
where gold days fade to rust,
she reminisces of ages past
and of lives come and gone.
Through ache of tears nostalgic
she sees you turn for her.
You take her hand, “It’s alright” you say,
“for a new season now has come.”

And then you guide her tenderly
one final time down the road.
Out of the frost, away from the cold,
and into the mists
of tomorrow.

28 Comments on “A Letter to Time.

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