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Poem

Sunbeams flood into my room like a tide on the rise creeping in.
Woe betide me be, wet or dry, warm or cold, enlightened or beam blighted.
Dawn bears beams of revelations, comings and goings, flotsam and jetsam,
Some floating, others dissolved, suspended, dragging in sentiment grains of sand.
Behold sea, what betides in seeps you oozed in?

Seconds or first, ticks or crosses, daze lost, or minutes expanded?
Wins or losses, deposits or payments, credit or bills, older but deeper in debt or bathing in clover?
Will forget-me-knot bloom, rose petals fall off, buds pop open or dead-heads drop down?
Who will call by, drop in, blow in, come in, arrive on door step, or be shown the door with good riddance and boot?
What will the postie deliver, inbox spew up, or social media blurt outs in entrails of you-have-mail?
Will you step up, step forward, take two steps back, make progress or stumble and fall?
Will your dreams be realized, shattered, made, recalled, befallen, denuded, dewatered or deluded be splat?

You can't stop progress.
Time marches on.
'Now' it reigns, and we all get wet.
Fate's clock is never fast.
Destiny blooms and booms.
'Sun' it shines, and 'ce sera tout fait' translates
Good morning
Day its brung!

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