Time Marches

Clouded moon gathers its tidal claim below
Gilded manners tilt passion’s proven gift
Taken fears levy a mortal freedom lift,
Searched goodness follows meted flow.

Harvest orb beckons golden glow
Crisp, fall air warms shallow heart
Breath blown gently touches smartly
Ears stiffly cold from northern blown.

Springs graded globe echoes called hope
Heated warmth thaws chilled wisdom
Through searched past reveals doldrums’;
Time marches again on parades float.

Robert Dodson
June 5, 2009