Time's Passing

Time’s Passing

The sun creeps over the horizon
And winter branches stand,
Naked against the cold sky,
Blue as sapphires, cold as ice and snow.
The leafless trees are filigree, edged with ice and frost,
Coloured gold or silver with the sun.
They are decorated with the fine, silvery nets of cobwebs,
Gossamer and beautiful,
With diamond teardrops shed by the weeping sky.
The grass is cold, crisp with frost,
Green – white in the morning,
And jewelled with water droplets.
The cold wind spins around the treetops, casting forth
The last reminder of Autumn in all its red gold glory,
A leaf or two drifting lazily to the ground,
Joining the quilt covering the sleeping earth.
Spring has gone, in all its youth and glory, an early morning burst
Of colour, and birdsong, and melting snow.
The long, golden afternoon of Summer has drifted past,
It is gone in a memory of warm days and short nights.
Autumn, with all its mist and fruitfulness, is passing quickly now,
As the year dies, and the long night of Winter approaches,
Gentle as old age, cold as the north wind.
Yet there is still hope, for in time the year will be born again.
The snow will melt, and the days will warm – the tree,
Silver – gold and edged with frost, now, will be bronze,
Green with new leaves, and then heavy with flowers and fruit,
As the long, slow, march down the years continues.