In Position - Lauris Dorothy Edmond

I want to tell you about time, how strangely

it behaves when you haven't got much of it left:

after 60 say, or 70, when you'd think it would

find itself squeezed so hard that like melting

ice it would surely begin to shrink, each day

looking smaller and smaller - well, it's not so.

The rules change, a single hour can grow huge

and quiet, full of reflections like an old river,

its slow-turning eddies and whirls showing you

every face of your life in a fluid design -

your children for instance, how you see them

deepened and changed, not merely by age, but by

time itself, its wide and luminous eye; and you

realise at last that your every gift to them - love,

your very life, should they need it - will not

and cannot come back; it wasn't a gift at all

but a borrowing, a baton for them to pass on in

their turn. Look, there they are in this

shimmering distance, rushing through their kind

of time, moving faster than you yet not catching up.

You're alone. And slowly you begin to discern

the queer outline of what's to come: the bend in

the river beyond which, moving steadily, head up

(you hope), you will simply vanish from sight.

---

Lauris Dorothy Edmond (1924 - 2000) New Zealand

Source: Hello Poetry