Like a soft blown mist,
Continually swirling,
Like eddies, in hidden pools,
Trapped forever from sunlight,
By the forever hanging branches,
Of one hundred year old willows.
Like footprints in the sand,
On a deserted beach,
With a life span of a thousand waves,
Leading to somewhere, where we are not.
And in an instant with a wave, they are gone.
Like the ticking of a clock,
Each second joins the next,
Then becomes a part of history,
As soon as it is born,
Is this what we are?
A mere speck in time...?
(R)