Making Richer.
Dawn hangs on the trees, slivers itself
floorward, breaks on sleeping acres,
turns shade to tailgates of light
over which sun snipes at shadows
before leaping over
to change moveless dreamers to doers.
Rising to seed another day, eyes need
forewarning, blindness precedes brisk
flashes of conscious surrender
to ageing which suddenly blasts sight
back to passing of time
as breath catches gasps of movement.
Waking blocked ears mistake whispers
for real but shaken the senses
know Heaven ticks round each star
although it is fading thus making the
richer remaining moments
in which dawn still hangs on the trees.
In the land of See-Again stands
our old trysting tree.
Falling thru’ time I see the place
where my lover waits.
Wrapped in immortality’s folds
gleam priceless moments.
We there have never been parted
and youth owns our hearts.
Memory, like the muse, still plays
transmutation games.
Ageless are unmoveable dreams
where new is ceaseless.
Vision creates again love’s time
that once known will never decline.