must we always drift across the moments of time
whispering to the starry storms of an unhesitating eventide
unaware that the blushing morning glory of bird songs
distracts our audacious memory from the recurrent promises
where we blessedly laid our silent dreams to peacefully rest
remaining unadmittedly jaded by the dried rose petals
saved on their thorny stems near a corner davenport
where the feigns of aging dust gently gathered resolution
and the senescent perfume faded into stale memories
moth eaten and unrippened by the events of dismay...