Customs And Calendars Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

Most cultures earmark calendars
with hopes new roads to tread
by suns and seasons as they change
to note the times ahead

Some count long years in numerals
remembered in their heads
some cut deep notches in an oak
for sowing seeds for bread

Some people watch the firmament
in stars they place great trust
they chronicle the centuries
and monuments encrust

Yet there are those who cannot count
by numbers or by signs
their concept of the flow of time
can not be thus confined

And there are those who walk the earth
whose seasons never end
their blistered feet are gray with dust
their dark and light one blend

An order flows for those who trust
in years and changing tides
for some there are who linger in
a meaningless divide

So many are the ways of men
by customs to make sense
of days and nights and months and years
of past and present tense

What then is time and what's the hour
what holiday, what year
what is the meaning of all this
what should be held most dear

Is not the present moment such
that it contains the world
the single breath, the thump of heart
the flag of life unfurled?