Ah, wayfaring rambler of moments
Where will we wander today?
The eaves of the skyline are heavy
With spring’s restless palette of gray
But I hear a song in its hollow
And I feel a tug in the air
Where pastures of winter-worn fallow
Beckon that we should come there
Time is a smooth operator
See how it cunningly slips
Over the cup of a season
It rushes, meanders and drips
And we are its wayfaring ramblers
Grasping the moments that seep
Through our ephemeral hunger
We laugh, love, worry and weep
And we think that we are too busy
To squander upon the south slope
An hour to commune with violets
Or other such emblems of hope
The brook-song released from its bondage
Tumbles through earth’s verdant lea
Charging no fee for our pausing
To list to its melody
Duty is a tireless master
And we are a whisper of dust
I think we owe it to nature
To revel in its wanderlust
© Janet Martin
Wander your moments wisely
They do not pass again
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Thank-you for stopping by my porch! I hope you were blessed!