A poem for my wife
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Time is a funny thing
running away
all the time
crossing meadows
jumping seas
desert and the woods
stopping never
in your tracks
waiting upon
none at all
i have chased it
day and night
over the hills
and under the seas
above the cloud
and within my fist
the sand slips
and water seeps
in to the ground
the seed sprouts
and the bark
dry and shriveled
comes to life
the brook sings
over the pebbles
the bird picks
a note in the beak
time is funny
running away
in to the void
the spaces remain
within my heart
time doesn't
fill them though