TIME
As nature’s libraries patterns change
by slow degree with mornings call,
the mustering oak and elm and ash,
where moonlight dripped and silvered boughs,
point down to where the yawning path
knows no defined establishment.
And now ensphered by harmonies,
with great eclat the morning fugue
of rustling wind and wildlife’s call,
declares release from night times veil
to rest and summon resolution.
And there he stands in reverie
with passage of the lonely years
and yielding by slow degree,
with back now stooped, his burnished face
with wrinkled mien, his mind dwells deep
on nature’s contract made with man.
Michael Edwards © November 2016