Time Sifts Through An Hourglass Poem by Mark Heathcote

Time sifts through an hourglass
Her chains lock the heart; alas
Eternity weeps in hope
All lovers tread a tightrope
The cradle of that long, goodbye.
Each month, one last numbered July
One less red promise rose
One less yield of windrows
All life sifts from the moving shadow.
The baritone cries alto
Such pain is the lover's death
Such the non-existent breath;
In the hearts cruel echoes—past
Such an empty soul's bombast
To die devoid of the knowledge
Evergreen, soul's leafage
The largo-music of the harp,
The heavens--ever--heavenly.