A Place Time Forgot

A Place Time Forgot
Dr Abe V. Rotor

They just stand silent – these trees, river and hill

The water beams the color of the sky, of autumn or spring,

The breeze clings on mist, dewdrops on a train,

Dying beyond the thought of dying, whispering, hushing.

The seed can wait, unless fishing rods quiver and bend,

And the boys though young forever aim at another prize,

While the girls like flowers in the desert sweetly ask

For rain, and lightning flashing, mushrooms will soon rise.

But do not make haste unless the clock melts at the edge,

Hair turns gray, the air sultry, neon light complain,

Unless the swivel chair creaks in pain, forgetfulness, and chill,

They just stand silent – these trees, river and hill. ~