See here, the dark oasis
beneath the blinding noon—
the slenderest of spaces,
and it will vanish soon.
Our shaded refuge lingers
where bright eyes cannot pry.
Those searching, scorching fingers
still daily pass it by.
A breeze hums through this walnut
we scaled with childish cheer.
The sign we carved was small, but
it still would show the year.
Time hisses as she passes,
and flicks her eager tongue,
hunting through groves and grasses
we used to laugh among.