Last Love Poem by Roy Ballard

One gave to you the touch of children's hands,
another brought you laughter and a song
but now my footprints on the sea-washed sands
mark out with yours the stretch you walk along.
What measures time? A globe of glass well spun,
with extra skill made narrow at the waist
through which the grains of time untimely run
to carry off all things with too much haste.
No, time's true measure is the human heart
that longs to beat against a loving one;
for time is only lovers kept apart,
as winter is the lack of summer sun.
The new flood scours our footprints from the beach
of time and the tide; our love's beyond their reach.