Time’s strange and changeless weaver weaves
With ever-changing buds and leaves
A picture-scape of moments told
As we embrace but cannot hold
its thread that falls through fingertips
And hearts, as we with trembling lips
Subject to its supreme command
Cannot restrain or force his hand
How can we love and love full-well?
Those fading footfalls of farewell
Which rend the air in middle night
And fill our prayers with meek insight
Turn into morning; gone the glance
Of childhood’s free, unbothered dance
While we, with hearts twisted and wrung
Must learn new songs upon the tongue
The day does not delay its care
Though heart-pieces drift on the air
We cannot stand and stare with thought
Too long; the strings we clasp swift caught
Within time’s loom, the bud, the bloom
Surrenders soon as clocks consume
Their daily bread, we lift our heads
To taste full-well love’s transient threads
© Janet Martin
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