Time, that merchant of wares, ever present.
Selling seconds to souls, selling infinity to
death, bartering moments away as casually
as a breeze across a clover laden field.

This scoundrel that wages war on me daily,
who has taken away the foliage from the
tree, who bends the limbs of my youth and
waters the lilies waiting for my stone.

Whispering I, to this rascal of dark and
untrusting eyes, with a smile that would
enchant the world. Asking him the one
question, an unknown we all share...
When....when?

Silence, more quietening than the mortician’s
humble abode. Deafening to some, those
whose ears ring from the lack of words
as a heart beats more vigorously in wait
of an answer.

“When the raven flies east, the sun sets
west and the rooster crows upon the morn.”

Befuddled, walking away empty handed,
pondering the words. When? Knowing
not the answer for...

Only time knows.