Borders

Wasting time to think of the sorrow
when yesterday only gives us tomorrow,
there’s time enough to put by
to sit there and cry
and time to reflect.

The clock’s just a windmill
uphill mostly, but at
the top when we stop
before the mad rush downhill
time’s still the windmill we struggled
so hard to turn and in spite of
better judgement
we leant
time the time to turn against us.

And now it’s nearly gone
the wind will rush on
the flowers will still bloom
and somewhere in time
there’ll be room for more
reflections.

Some spiritual space
and
with a God’s grace
I’ll be there.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.