Time’s Arrow

Time’s Arrow

Time’s arrow, so the ancient sophists say,

Flies ever onward from the twanging bow

In one direction, day by gloomy day,

Never turning from its silent, slow

Arc to heaven and speedy fall to earth.

No will, no wish, no spell, no curse can turn

Its flight or send it spinning toward rebirth.

We feel its ghostly feathers as they burn

Our youthful cheeks, its deadly shaft that sears

Our brow, its windy passage as it whips

Our hair to gray, its brassy point that tears

Our vision, dulls our hearing, numbs our lips.

No one escapes time’s arrow save the few

Who find in love a dawning ever new.

W.D. for L.V.

June 24, 1992