Oh what a lovely dance it is
the advance and retreat
of the tide of time
uncurling, unfurling buds of leaves
then painting them bright,
red, orange, and gold with cold
fingers whatever lingers.
Then white swirls bleach the brown
pristining the town and the countryside
until the tide of time grays down
the crusts remaining. Dancing in
and dancing out hours accordion
shaping the light, day and night,
over and over again.
The merry go round goes round
and the sound of the wind, and
the sound of the rain beat time,
and again repeating the long refrain
of warm to cold and light to dark,
brightening sun to glowing sparks
in the sky, as stars revolve.
The roundelay dance of time
circles us in and circles us out
as we with the seasons sing our songs
joining our voices to make a chorus
of all the singers from now and then
as time swings round and back again
with the swirl and swoop of stars.
Pujakins 