Colin F. Jones

ONE DAY

Times passing etches on your cheek each line,
To form the patterns of your life’s design,
Deceptive yes, but valuing the truth
That staggers through your skin oft so aloof.
For if each groove could play your histories tune,
‘t would be a song to make all blossoms bloom,
But yet turn brown the green surrounding leaf,
That idles in the in the hands of a silent thief.
Time can, but make fast aging youth grow old,
That all the glorious petals we must fold,
Accepting that at birth sweet death had won,
And that one day the end would surely come.
One day sweet brother I will follow you,
For death is the one real thing I know is true