Clocks

For Michael, and me

May 16th

Tick, tock, tick, tock, delicate hands of time,

Silk shuttlecocks carry fine memories,

Of forever days, carefree ways gone by,

Slipped between clasped fingers like sand-soaked sea.

Cupid’s mercurial ballerinas

He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me.

Blown on the wind, innocent, no danger,

Floating o’er riverbanks, quarries, and trees.

Untarnished moments, polished and pristine,

Innocence of youth encapsulated.

Echoing swinging ropes and trains of steam,

A mother’s call in the dark, time for bed.

This dandelion parachute you see,

Sweet child of my youth, it was blown by me.

Please do leave me your thoughts and comments, in praise or constructive criticism, I appreciate them all and will reply.

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