Time, My Love

Is ours as all others?
It used to be full of petting, protection,
covetous.
I was once held in your favor
under agreeable smile and admiring eyes.
Now, you pass with routine.

I know I am not owed your kindness,
as I have been, and remain, a greedy fool,
but, oh, to get back to my books;
sit by window landscaped in snow;
walk along river, waves, rock, or wood…

I used to light fires
just to watch them die.
I was playful
with all you had allotted me,
frivolous with the flames,
poking log and kindling coals.

I am not likely to change;
this you have shown me.
But, I seek thy mercy,
for I have felt the blusterous cold
of your neglect,
and I long to have a bit more of you,
to curl next to the fire

for however long
you’ll have it burn.



All Rights Reserved: Elizabeth Bohlander Wilson