Simple Zen

time, fickle mistress, turned away, as a child runs to play, next time as we're looking down the child's grown and no where found, and as life's minutes slowly tick our rushing moments never stick, a smile, a touch, a windblown field are left in a past so soon congealed, grasping desperate for the years burning older through our tears, laughter soon a gasping sigh played out music, fading cry, so turn your eyes to breaking dawn life explained in a small dog's yawn...