The Quest for Knowledge
A poem
A poem
The slither of time,
with May buds pink and white
and apple skins blushed and taut.
Beguiling fragrant youth,
when effervescent waters sprayed
the scarce containing bank,
as carefree winds tossed barley stalks
and swished the Marram grass
Quicksilver hours now rule the waves,
the haws have lost their shine,
the churling breeze a chilling wind
yet still the verdant coat remains.
Dull warm tones drift in the air,
though further now than once,
and mellow too, the fruit that hangs
upon the autumn vine.
The muddied years and blurring tears
both mark the turgid flow,
and as time flies I realise,
that’s all there is to know.