The Gathering Time (revised)

death

Gathering Time

Spun from gossamer threads of hours and days

Time gathered deep in his bones and on his face

Un-perceived it spreads and slowly seeped

As age advanced and his days were reaped

The harvest of his life in time

Each step a march from pride and prime

Towards the autumn and its  cold sunshine

To face like all, first age and death and then the Gathering Time.

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

 

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