Old Father time combs the beach again,
Green wellies, jumper oh so cosy.
The waves lap in and out,
His plodding footprints sink into the sands of time,
To be washed away again.
As if he never was.
The clouds rush across the blank sky,
Colours too fast to pause for breath,
And his aged bones feel cold as the water,
Grabbled as a crab claw.
But his mind feels free and longing,
It can run barefoot across the beach,
And giggle at a sea anemone,
Or a greedy seagull.
He digs eternally for treasures in the rock pools of ages,
A cracked-pot figment shows a lady painted,
His mind sees patterns as the sands talk day to day,
The sands of time say again
‘time is like a pea’
Round and beautiful, no beginning, no end,
then shrivelled, leaving only the memory
Of fresh bright green.