steepholm (steepholm) wrote,
steepholm
steepholm

Time Does Not Fly

Driving to my mother's this afternoon, in bright low sun, through flooded fields, I found the following mournful ditty taking shape...

Time does not fly: it falls.
In tocks and ticks it drops and slips
Through fingers cupped to catch -

And though we weave our lives into a net
And lime its threads with memory and praise,
Time penetrates reticulated days:

Thus all our clocks are water clocks,
Eternity a standing pool.
Tags: my writing
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