Time. How shall it be measured, made?
That which no foot rule beside can be laid,
scale balanced, basket filled, or scoop amount,
so we close our eyes and to ourselves we count.
How many heartbeats, metered,  seconds it will last,
for the scary, screeching  freight train of life to pass?
The stinging sandpaper swirl of dust and leaves,
dry autumn rustle, thunderous, ground, and heaves,
a sandstorm, maelstrom, air and noise rushing by,
then thrown rice settles----quiet forever, to encompass, to lie.

A lifetime is the breadth, of brush and ink stroke
of a newborn that passes upon the morrow's cloak,
or the palsied, slow, diligence of dotage, and humbles,
still is just one lifetime. Ours, and equal, to all other's  .
One life, sweet scented rose, savoured petal by falling petal.
Choose thine eyes in wonder open, watching the train pass withal,
In confusion, dust smarting in eyes, tearing in the wind,
And sweet scented savoured rose, I have but one end,
I have but one life time.

 Dean

(photo by rcvernors)