carrying time with me
I’ve been carrying time with me
As long as I can remember.
I never did make it past
One nineteenth of September.
Dainty pink crocuses
On a hillside of wild grass.
I thought that they are spring flowers
But they looked too delicate to ask.
Maybe they were late bloomers
Or maybe they were early.
Either way their date with time
Had come upon them surely.
But that was when I was young
And did not realize
That the autumn crocus
Blooms under autumn skies.
And that was when I was old
And did not realize
That time exposes
All of my lies.
These days I still walk
That magic pink carpet mile.
Only now when I see crocuses
All I do is smile.
Like I said, all I do is smile.
Crocuses and smile.