Place and Time, Time In Place
Place and Time, Time in Place
I hear the mourning dove, her lonesome call
cooing softly, somewhere in the shade.
The sum holds steady
strong and blinding, high straight up in the midday haze.
The days of summer
creep to an end, as August sheds its heat.
In short and distant days ahead
autumn reaches in, with change and dying, withered leaves.
Each season takes its place and time
not overstepping, awaiting its turn.
Soon enough
too soon, perhaps, the seasons pass.
Time stands still
for no one, nothing, allowing only seasons change.
Moving forward, ever forward
years, decades, centuries, bringing all things, all futures, all pasts
to stake their place and time
while history alone, holds time in place.
Copyright © DM Babbit | Year Posted 2015
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