Birth
comes whispering
her way
into the world.
The passing
of the days
are unmentioned,
unnoticed,
forgotten sounds.
And then,
with no forewarning,
another faint whisper,
and we have
death
at our fingertips.
In vain
do we grasp
desperately
for the fleeting
moments,
sounds,
of which we were
oblivious to
only yesterday...
which were
Ours
only yesterday.
Alas!
All is gone
far
beyond our reach,
save only yesterday's
murmuring
echoes.

cj  1971