Time Poem by chris schwartz

You won't understand until later
Much later
When the fields that turn to gold
Strike you
In a way, that you sense,
The end is near,
And how their beauty
Overcomes
All that you fear.
When the song
In your head
That's played over and over again
Strikes its true chord
Of all you've held
Inside
And sends a message
That says,
"Oh, now I get it."
You won't understand
Until later,
How the flowers that you plant
Burst with beauty,
Though, planted
In the fall,
Leave such short remembrance
On all that strikes you
Before the barren winter
Abandons
Simple times,
Still sought after
With lust.
You won't understand,
The last planting of spring
How short it is
And how precious
It's seeds
Grow into summer's abandonment
Until you watch
The reality
Of how fast the sun sets.
Then you write it down
On paper,
Wondering if
It too,
Will become
All, that is,
Manufactured
By time.