Life & Love

A Letter to Time.

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 replies »

  1. Hi Phoebe,
    I’m reading your poem after my mother has been struck down with acute muscles spasms, spent a week in hospital and is now back home and decisions need to be made about physio. She can’t drive for a bit. It’s all been a huge shock and there’s been that realisation that she’s elderly and no one is immortal. I found your poem very touching and I’m feeling I should write a poem for my Mum. About my Mum. Funny because I’ve written so much in the last week but my mum is like a closed door. Don’t want to go near that potential, inevitable grief.
    I’ve seen two grandparents reach their 90s with Alzheimers and while it wasn’t easy, I’ve realised that it’s quite different when it’s your parents aging. My grandparents were always old and simply got older but my parents have been my strength. Seeing your parents age is something that’s very hard to prepare for as there’s nothing quite like it and I guess we have to nut out our own path.
    How have you experienced this?
    Thanks for sharing your poem and touching my heart.
    Best wishes,


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