And here we are a year has passed away,
Much has changed but much remains the same.
The cricket’s song has passed to gold,
But there are stories still to be told.
Pine needles stay for many years;
Time will even break down tears.
The soil is richest where homes are built,
Where linoleum and carpet both are tilled.
Feet make the best plows.
In time even stone will bow
Beneath the presence of a thousand souls.
That is why the bell tolls.
Time sounds in fifteen minute intervals,
An hourly musical festival
That celebrates the garden’s spreading bounds;
Silence marks out bedlam’s hunting grounds.
The battle will continue through this age
Through poems, stories, and the day to day,
the pine trees grow as the bell divides
in minutes spread out till the end of time.