Melting Clocks

Crickets at twilight, frog calls from the pond…
My ears are so used to the sounds of summer
the silence is thundering,
It falls like a hard rain on my parade.

Though maples wear flame,
there’s frost on the ground,
Time creates its own conflagration,
Dali’s clocks no longer seem so surreal.

Summer has gone, a leaf flickers and falls;
its whisper already  a memory
for those days that are wrapped
in  the silence of snow.

In the end, the clock always wins out.
No matter how harsh the winter,
eventually the ice will melt
and time will continue.

5 thoughts on “Melting Clocks

  1. gwendrina

    Hi Sarah

    Time creates its own conflagration,
    Dali’s clocks no longer seem so surreal.

    Summer has gone, a leaf flickers and falls;
    its whisper already a memory

    Wow I adore this entire poem and those lines above really resonate with me. Indeed, time creates its sense of fire in the color of trees, the burning of leaves and most all, for all seasons, the burning away of time, itself along with, if we allow it, sorrows, troubles etc. I can really feel the faded sounds of Summer and the silence of frost blanketing the land. This was an absolute joy to read.

    Also, thank you so much for your latest e-mail to me and that article on the Wicca blog. I so much enjoyed reading it. I did, several days ago, send you a long letter in return. I hope you received it.
    Anyway, your poem was a joy to read!

    Take care
    my best always
    Wendy

    1. Wendy,

      Your generous comments are so much appreciated.
      I am glad you mentioned there was an email. I had
      missed it. Thank you a zillion times over…I have replied
      and it should be in your inbox at this very moment. Your
      news (which I hold in sacred trust until such time as you
      choose to share it) brings joy to my soul!! Many, many,
      many thanks!

      As ever,
      Sarah

      1. gwendrina

        Hi Sarah

        Received both your lovely letters and thank you so much for your empathy, concern and encouragement on my poetry publications. I have already replied to both letters and they, too, should be in your e-mail box.

        Thank you so much
        my best always,
        Wendy

  2. BoardFlak

    I think my favorite is the first verse; it seems each season is characterized in part by what is not there from the previous season. And, of course, life’s clock never stops.

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