Sunday, September 1, 2019

Each Hour

I meet each of you there
Outside in the night
Vital, alive, roving
Through the garden

And think how fragile
Each of you appears,
Short in years
By human marks.

Yet each hour,
Minute, second
Of your existence
Counts as much as mine.

In the eye of time
There seems
No special merit
To my extended life,

My wide path as I go,
Except in giving me
A longer, broader look
At this sweet world we share.

©2019 John I. Blair, 8/29/2019

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