It's A Short, Short Time Poem by gershon hepner

It’s a short, short time from May to November,
December to May, though, is shorter;
spring, summer and fall aren’t hard to remember,
but winter, and spring that’s so cruel in the quarter
that comes before May, are often so rotten
you’re glad when they’re over, and there’s not much time
to make up for sadness at best half-forgotten,
although to remember may seem like a crime.

Oh, the days dwindle down like a flickering ember,
but though after midsummer’s day they start shrinking,
you notice this most once approaching December,
when all that you see of the sun is its sinking.
With the ones you have loved you are hoping to spend
the days that remain when you leave far behind
the spring, summer, fall months, compelled soon to end
in the days of the winter where you’ll be confined.


These words were inspired by the Anderson/Weill song that Marion Amsellem sang for me at my 70th birthday party, a week before her fatal cerebal hemorrhage, joined, of course, by many others:

Oh, it's a long, long time from May to December
But the days grow short when you reach September
When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
One hasn't got time for the waiting game

Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few
September, November
And these few precious days
I'll spend with you
These precious days I'll spend with you


6/30/08