As I get older,
days fly off the calendar
like flocks rising off a pond.
Their sudden disappearance
startles me into a panic
of what is not yet done.
And yet, when I grow impatient
for something still to pass,
I forget how fast the future will arrive.
Posts
3 comments:
Knead fingers, knuckle
deep in dough; the soft surface
gives, demands its work
be finished. There are moments
we touch time and can't tell it.
Thanks, FL. I love the last line.
H. K.
Today's photo is another one my wife took recently.
H. K.
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