This tenuous moment waxes even thinner
upon the dial we watch in anticipation
and the flower fades and winter comes again

We watch ourselves grow and change
The world seems to walk us through
to the end of our very imagination

Those who drift away in silence
rarely seem to return in triumph
and we sleep the steady days away

Transition is the tide that wears the shore
and every bride says the words like the ones before
and new light dawns with each child born

It seems ongoing in its change
rearranging and yet the same
in our view so skewed
Is this truly perpetuity?