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.