Old Man
From the North
whence he comes to slap your face,
not caring who you are.
Causing crimson cheeks with
a stinging force,
you cannot raise a hand.
Just turn your back
and let him by,
his whisper shakes the trees.
Nature not man
can kill this foe,
he rules today.
Time
An instant still before they meet
the forward track of time,
and silent echoes fill the air
with everything in rhyme.
An instant past, no longer seen,
the trail is left behind,
finished though the time at hand,
is not forgotten we will find.
For in this moment time stands still,
in solitary stance,
past moves on and forward back
and meet within ourselves.