Written by: Robert Ludden

Look down to gaze upon the hours 
moving through the void of unconcern,
forgetfulness on every side
and isolation dear 
because it is the only thing
to cling to.

Stop...where birdsong knows another plain,
where peace is blended with the rain
of sorrows entertained, and touched,
and smiled upon because they still sustain
the present in all time—
the childhood kissed,
the love that slipped away,
the youth that bowed 
and stretched forth aging arms 
to hold the sun.

Then turn with me;
it is not done, and when 
the turning is at rest
there is the rainbow
to reflect what it does best,
the final memory of light.