Last Thirty Minutes Before the Work Evening Begins

A young person sits delicately

underneath the dogwood tree,

this year, autumn is indecisive;

playing tug of war with spring.

The day light shutters, and the

incoming night approaches so

much earlier than it used to.

Seated in my car, forlorn look

in weary eyes, lines of age and

thinning hair.

I've come to realize that life is

but an inkling, a twinkle of an

eye, flicker of a flame; then gone.

I realize also, that like this moment,

this one too shall pass; the young 

person has disappeared leaving the 

dogwood tree alone, I must clock in

now; starting this mad cycle again.

By Wayne Russell

From: United States