Sands Of Time… Poem by Mark Heathcote

Nature is a sandstorm
it cannot be controlled
it cannot be tamed to be a lamb.

It cannot be turned on or off.
But it can fall and form land. O and even a man
it's the nature of the invisible lifted aloft.

Till physical strengths grow weary and exhaust
to carry it on its ultimate journey,
to season it with grain, rains of a petal flower.

And tend it in its final hour of rest.
Nature is a sandstorm
and we, my child, are all the sands of time.