© Barbara Grace Lake 2018


Uncaring, ruthless time, hold back
Conceding there is no return
I do not wish some ghostly hand
Return to life a former time
When I was less than twenty five
And time itself seemed infinite

When days, not blaming stripling age,
Were filled with fleeting, youthful craze
Of parties, dance, erotic lust
Euterpe’s waste in primal quest
How recklessly I dared each day
I’d not repeat that time again

Though when, perhaps, my first born child
Drank deeply from his mother’s breast
Or when a baby daughter cooed
Or children’s laughter filled the house
These things I’d love to see, but no,
Vignettes like this are better dreams

I could not know when I was young
How precious time would be in age
How quickly fly unyielding years
My neighbor’s children, grown like mine
And now I struggle savoring
Each hour a gift to see and feel.