A strange occurrence, how time seems

To think for us, never changing its pace

But rather our notions on how quick it

Passes by, and I remember ah how I

Remember the child I was, those hours

That seemed eternal and in tune with my

Presumed immortality, twelve years old

Forever, the hour hand laughing up its

Sleeve, myself too young, unable to hear

That gleeful ticking as summer gave way

To fall, leaves turning brittle and carried

Away from the trees that had borne them

And the knowledge of that passing heard

But unheeded in a sighing wind, its voice

A mystery whispered in skeletal branches

That swayed and groped for what they had

Lost as I went about the business of growing

Up, never thinking to give the slightest pause

To consider how twelve became thirteen, until

It came to pass that somehow I had become a

Man, standing before a mirror that reflected

Back much more truth than I cared to know,

Considering how time had quickened its pace

But knowing in my secret heart that it really

Never changed at all.

END

“Hours”