Not far from thine eyes there’s a garden
And in that garden rolls a strange river,
A river though older than ancient Eden
Hath lost her silvery luster never.
In merry flowers of spring she rolls through,
Meandering past sweltering fields of summer,
Down through verdant meadows of autumn,
Till bids adieu strange barren plains of winter,
Serpentining through flowers of spring again.
And this proudly rolling river akin to any river
Thou canst not touch her same waters again
For swifter than a comet she gallops forever.
This, men of now and of yore have known,
All animals of the woods, all birds of the vale,
The poor and those who wear a golden crown,
For fickleness of this river they know well.
Hark! If thou hast noticed not this river,
A river that meanders from clime to clime
Evermore, thy mind's eye remains blind forever,
For this's the strange river by name, Time.
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California, USA. 03/28th/2019.
What if ye viewest "garden" as the "world" and "river" as "time". For if ye take a mental squint about the second verse of this poem, this river rolls through the four seasons of the year: "From flowers of spring, past fields of summer, down through meadows of autumn, right through barren plains of winter and then right back where it began which is spring, what could that be if not time?" #just saying...Loll
And if ye realise well, this river(Time) existed before ancient Eden but her strange water hath lost never its silvery glow.
Otherwise, unto ye all my poetry lovers, I'm truly so sorry it has been a while since a poem last rolled off my tongue due to lack of time but today I took time to muse about time and that's what I came up with. Hope ye hast enjoyed my muse about how time goes by and by.
Now that ye hast learnt something about time, please enjoy thy life to the fullest, for time's the most expensive gem that can't be bought back by neither silver nor gold.