simonhlilly

ONE MOMENT

Falling, tumbled dreams,
Wisped, fragranced,
Catch, spin and fade.

Morning is white and still
With frost and fog.
Sparrows motionless, huddled,
Await the sun, on elder, on elm.

We are sustained only, it seems,
By our forgetfulness,
By our obsession to measure time
And watch it passing.

To fit and shape the minutes,
Assigning usefulness
Rather than joy.

Sad creatures,
Longing for the real,
And missing it.

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