THERE IS NO DAYLIGHT
SAVINGS

Time leaves no trail,
       fog silently sliding
                  along the forest floor,
     or a cool breeze from some-
where north of here,
        a clock
            with no hands
     or face, just
           the seasons as they
    sweep by,
        my hair as it turns,
                 blond to brown to grey.
    Now I hear the
                tick-tock.
I hold my
           ears against
                 the deafening chill.
          

December 26, 2006     

 


All written material © Bill Schechter, 2016
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