I. Time goes in my slow soup when Thyme will tell again By a thymely smell as well As the flexibility of The erstwhile brittle Tending gives but takes a little Bending thyme will tell Or maybe this is rosemary Spent to bend reality In a timely way Time goes in but comes out love For the unwary The key ingredient that went In my slow soup then II. Reason found within the rhyme Remembered I forget Lost my place near out of time So I know November The taunt of the haunt and yet A spirit going free Forgetting I remember Like stars before I go Counting syllables like so Being freely me but Seeing poetry is what Is freeing me to be Rising to surprise again In my mother's cardigan III. Slow soup on the stove in the offing If you should hear me in the kitchen coughing Just know I must go stir as it were Or is to be something worthier of some Fancier chef than Lancean me Slow soup for what was is what is to come But slow soup is becoming reality Even now somehow though I know not A thing about any such thing like many May not remember much in November Before the fall or summer a spring When I could make slow soup as good as any Recalled in the fall like the why of the what Of the love I knew with you now I remember +Steven Curtis Lance Copyright MMXIII