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Susan K. Rowse

Wages of Time

Simple things that come to light
Like fireflies dancing in the night
Rhumetoid fingers of the great oak
Knarled with time that gently poke
The mist of fog upon the land
And common grounds of God and man
Pondering's on this nature trail
Words that come and never pale
Beauty in this peaceful marsh
Wrapped in arms of fog that wash
City smut from lids left heavy
Feet that whisper pads to levy
Wages free with no pretext
Peace and quiet, none to vex
Imaginings that come and go
Let it in and out it flows
Breaths so pure
On these moist grounds
Crickets kiss their legs for sound
Ghost of the woman, hair of moss
Draping in grays, nothing the cost
To witness this canvas
Of nature sublime
Before it is lost
From wages of time