of love and time

What say of love, the poet
When time comes
And takes his precious moments
In its ever waving arms
Only to leave him standing
Still
All alone
Constantly making his treasured moments
Just a thing of the past
Never letting him
Sit there
Stay there
Rest there
Never letting a moment last
Always stealing it right from his grasp
Labeling it "old"
A thing of the past.

by: mlejane
copyright 1998