O gentle stream, thou serpent of glass
Thou hast seen it all
How the years fell like
Leaves to thy bosom,
How thou carried dreams in thy flow
careless, relentless
Soft are thy murmurs now,
Yet harsh....witness to....fall.

Did ye not taste her tears
When she lingered here
Her lips trembling
‘Gainst thy crystalline skin....
The sun painting gold
Upon her hollowed cheeks?
Or was it her presence
Alone thou embraced?

For what is Time!
If not the thief of bloom?

Aye, 'tis not but the hand!
That strips the meadow bare,
That quenches the laughter

Hollow, vast, and cold.
Leaving
Hollow, vast, and cold.