Tempus Fugit (Time Flies)
Wretched and rancid, look what the
sand did; it slipped through the
hourglass way too soon.
Seems like yesterday, I was on
a rod iron chair in my back yard,
preparing to jump into the
plastic swimming pool.
I was singing, Leaving on a Jet-plane.
I understood the sadness, the good-bye.
48 years later, no plastic pool,
no rot iron chair, not
even a song to sing.
But I still ready myself for the
inevitable journey, that not
even time will stand still for.
Tuesday, June 30, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: death,journey,life,love