Tempus Fugit

For the eternal rememberance of things.

She suckles gently, nestles down to sleep.
You listen for the reassuring breath.
It comes, and cues you for a slumber deep –
Your task is done – to nurture her to health.

Tempus fugit.

The helpless babe now toddles here and there,
Exploring, pointing, talking, entertaining,
Disovering her world, without a care,
Acquiring language, questioning, explaining.

Tempus fugit.

The teenage years now rear their feisty hormones,
Parental horrors, headlines selling news,
Children denied the feeling they are loved ones,
Denied all access to life’s codes, desperate for clues.

Parental skills now challenged day-by-day,
You, with patience, gild your blooming child.
She flourishes and beautifies the lay
Of land she walks, no blade of grass defiled.

Tempus fugit.

In lands beyond the home, she sought to find
A place to tickle dew-drop covered feet.
Beyond the green and pleasant land she dines
And feasts upon the fare of waters deep.

But more than that, she found a gourmet who
Could share in every culinary delight.
They ordered courses from the waters blue,
Their love, enough to melt the chocolate night.

And feasted they upon this bounteous horde,
A menu sweetened most with love’s desire.
Their appetites devouring every course;
Delicate flavours, spices full of fire.

Tempus fugit.

So to the wedding feast we came, to share
The joining of two souls in love ’til death;
A father, proud, with so much love for her
He tells the world,  and we a tear do shed.

But close to hand, her groom looks on and dreams
Of soul-to-soul existence with his mate.
There is no-one, no act, no thought, it seems
Can take away the promise of their fate.

Tempus fugit.

Full circle does life come to let us know
Just why we work so hard to get it right.
Just why we do what we must do and hope,
When comes the time, our children see the light.

There is a state of things in Nature’s larder
That knows there is a season for each flavour.
In winter, birds find such a task the harder
Because the chill kills all the fruits they favour.

So, what if, when the fruit is ripe and sweet,
And we in Autumn seek our quiet time?
The peach does not survive the winter bleak,
And we cannot escape the chilly clime.

But in our larder we will all remember
Her face, fresher than the morning air.
We taste her memory and harvest each September
The scent of flowers that wafts on breezes fair.

And so we treasure every bite we take
And taste the memories she left behind,
For time has caught her up, and so we make
Delicious sweets with love, a love sublime.

Ad perpetuam rei memoriam.