Each russet anniversary,
Plaid skirts and pencil boxes, fragrance of a hearth.
Time slips, no longer seek a grade but a career,
And in the work world find rebirth.
But then the greatest miracle–
Crib and tiny toe prints, life’s essence in a babe.
Time stills, and that these precious days will end I fear.
Exquisite pain yet rich with mirth.
Now autumn has returned to me.
There stand the blossomed children, wearing springtime dress.
Time stops, as dawns the understanding of this year.
Yet more awaits before the earth.