Time comes by, fleeting.
Everything is changing.
The river that was once calm
Now sings a mournful psalm.
From the hustle of the leaves
To the whistle of the furious wind,
Reminds me how everything has frayed.
It is now time to leave.
It seems only yesterday
I was in the comfort of your softest embrace,
Smelling the fragrance of a playful day.
Now, I must face the awaiting menace.
Hardly any light, I follow the route.
Where it may lead, I’ll soon find out.
The sweet joy of old times will be as valuable as a dime,
Kept inside the pocket of a troubled traveler.
Nov 28, 2025
Nov 28, 2025 at 12:30 PM UTC
Time comes by, fleeting.
Everything is changing.
The river that was once calm
Now sings a mournful psalm.
From the hustle of the leaves
To the whistle of the furious wind,
Reminds me how everything has frayed.
It is now time to leave.
It seems only yesterday
I was in the comfort of your softest embrace,
Smelling the fragrance of a playful day.
Now, I must face the awaiting menace.
Hardly any light, I follow the route.
Where it may lead, I’ll soon find out.
The sweet joy of old times will be as valuable as a dime,
Kept inside the pocket of a troubled traveler.
This is a poem I wrote in 2021.
- Missy
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