Seconds of Dew tears adorn
falling flake petals which carpet hours with minutes.
But hours slide through Day’s grasping fingers and Days now run into weeks.
Months in relay race forward to taped years.
As ageing decades sieve tears forlorn
hands recede to folds on brittle sonnets
As past memories in strength do peak –
with sadness then recede within, to the Spirit of one’s peers.