Wednesday, May 9, 2018


“Time is the thing that counts the ticks”

I should like to live
Long enough I can savor
Someplace it feels exciting
To see winter coming in

And the days getting shorter,
A comfortable grand hotel
Perhaps, in a wing
With a balcony

Looking south over thick woods
(Or north, if Tasmania)
That concentrate the sinking

Autumn light to a blurred point
Made blurrier by first snows,
All frozen water-clocks stopped.

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