I hate to see the damage winter cold
And earthquakes do to pavements where I walk
Construction scars some spots, some are just old
The mortar turned to dust between the rocks.
I know that in the spring, or sooner still
A crew will come and patch some of these cracks
What hurts is the reminder all things will
Erode and buckle under time's attacks.
Like teeth, which serve as clocks of our decay,
The cobblestones cry out advancing age
And as they chip or crumble day by day
I walk on mind-drawn tombstones. Yet this rage
is useless. I should take to heart these signs
that, cracks and all, aged things can still work fine.
No comments:
Post a Comment