The clog dancer

Saturday seeps slowly through these Venetian blinds
which are made by an Italian family resident
in Birmingham.

I think Saturday creeps in silently anyway,
earlier
in the garden that’s actually a balcony with
potted plants
I watched the Sun such as it was go down.

Time loses something in the telling of its tale
where
as each minute passes amassing more
I have passed three score years
and never even noticed.

Milestones not millstones and yet both
erode.

We go on into the splendour
spend a moment here and there
find
the one
and make him or her
the only one
and we go on.

Saturday is God’s way of saying,
‘here’s your reward’

And though I want to sleep
I
also want to keep these precious
moments alive and awake
and later to take the memory of them
with me.

She knows what I mean.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.