Timothy Spearman writes

A Poeture Speaks a Thousand Words

 

Spring of Cosmic Summer’s Autumn

The Seven Stars forming the Big Dipper

From whence the Milky Way flows

Churns the milk in the millwheel of time,

As the cosmic clock chimes the appointed hour

When the seasons change in heaven.

The sacred cows’ call extends to the ends of the universe

While the golden calves suckle on the teats of time.

The cosmic call of the sacred calf for its mother,

The sacred moo, the creative response, the eternal echo of Om.  

Who could tolerate the impatient clock,

The anxious minute hand or the impulsive hour hand?

Unless some timekeeper with watchful eye

Ensured the metronome kept the beat

For the muse of music who has been playing

Since the time of the first beginning, could change bars

And drinks in time to accompany the most noteworthy notes

Into the next phase in the musical phrase

Till the last score of recorded time.