On time and its grasp:
I am chilled and warmed at the passing day,

In motion is the beauty borne afresh,
And the flowers vibrant in the brightened noon,
I see myself an exile tend to fields of time,
To watch a sapling rise and hear the creaking bark,
Mutter wisdom of a king unseen,

Yet it is cold when time rolls to the frost,
The days are crushed and dwindle shorter fast,
I feel a burning cold, my skin attacked,
In time I kneel here in its grasp bound up,
This time foreturns and steals my heat like frost,

In minutes to the darkest nights at length,
Brief need and lengthy ponderance, I know:

Time's digits are held on marionette string,
And mold me like a potter so.

Teetering on the edge,
The fragile balance of sorrow and gladness,
Is shattered by a stream of immutable joy and peace.
Tears of love remain.
Where are you now, shame?
Are you not cast out by tears of love?