Ode to Father Time

Dear Father Time... I never tire of your ways... Your sweet and sun-steeped golden days...(today, a balmy 20C) Your contours, swaddled in soft grays... Your landscapes, washed in pink... A quick pit-stop for supper and off again) Spring is like a dog straining wildly at its leash today! I never tire of your waysYour sweet and sun-steeped golden daysYour contours, swaddled in soft graysYour landscapes, washed in pinkYour rough-and-tumble give and takeYour waves that sob and surge and breakAcross shorelines that gleam and acheWith untamed poem-ink I never tire of your hymnIt trembles in the barren limbAnd throbs as buds begin to brimWith orchestras of greenWith daybreak’s lilac-tinted sighsAnd twilight’s gentle lullabiesWith hellos, harboring goodbyesWith all that falls between I never tire of your waltzYour minuet and somersaultsYour promenade that never haltsBut twirls me round and roundTill I am breathless with delightYet never tire of the sightOf you, gilt-edged ‘gainst gath’ring nightOf a new day unbound I never tire of your easeTurning moments to memoriesTaming my younger-hungered pleasWith humble thankfulnessMy cheek against your stubbly chinAh, darling, how can I beginTo count your ways I cannot winYet love you nonetheless © Janet Martin