The Clock is Ticking Dear

Your lungs 

fill with air

as the morning dew

quivers on the verdant grass.

You are about to say

something;

I know it.

In the meantime,

the moon already exchanged places

with the sun

hundreds of times,

and summer trees -- from lovely dressed --

sorrowful and nude.

That dew among the grass

long had sunk 

beneath the earth,

and same of grass

which verdant once

sallow has become.

Wrinkles grew

on papa John

and grandpa Sam

has passed.

Our children we remember

crawling

walk on two 

at last.

The clock is ticking dear, 

yet still your lungs

are filled of air.

Just say the words!

They're only three.

don't you even slightly care?

Reviews

[Double T]

Great writing, good use of wording as well. Your poem has hidden meaning behind it and it has an emotional heft to it.

[guy drori]

Thank you....appreciate your comment :) Glad you liked it

[Alfred Kukitz]

Excellent write, cleaver wording, she's foolish in what she's missing.

Regards,
Al

[guy drori]

Thanks Al... Glad you liked :)