In the Months

In faded hues of time gone past
I whisper to each rolling sea,
And touch the soft yet brimming glass,
Of moments cherished so deeply.

It tumbles near, in memory’s drift,
Filling the skies with painted bliss—
A sweep of clouds to stir the rift,
A world within, in every kiss.

In months that weave through every glow,
Of life that breathes with flowers in hand,
We gather truth from what is slow,
And free our hearts to understand.

• Edward Thomas