There Are Some Times (From, Dried Flowers) Poem by Peter S. Quinn

There are some times when nothing can be done,
We are walking through the intestate way;
And feeling how the time is moving on,
When morning will end later in the day.
Transcendental instants leading somewhere,
Through all this space of loneliness we know;
Going to the garden when trees are bare,
And beds are empty in the winter snow.
We are moving toward all this dream sleep,
Through the travesties of the breathing still;
Shadows form the wall to our eyes creep,
Someplace is the hour where values distill.
On to the morning of what there might be,
Moments across from seed to new tree.