(c) Arike van de Water 2007-2009
Stress, long days, late nights form whole comet trails
- Crash down, and Time begins the facial marking
- And blows away youth's last remains. Their tails
- Shriek taunting grooves into his too-young skin
- "I'm fine," he says. His health still ails, stands, fails
- Each comet is rebounded and relived
- By willing faces 'round him, so the gales
- Erode the worry shaking in their midst
- Among them one who made him gladly hers
- She ribs and chides the most of all that throng
- No use, blind eyes can't see, they must look first
- He works on, happy yet, but not for long
- The serpent stirs, says, "hurt him, make him see!"
- Worn down she says, "that never worked for me."