Where are the snows
        of my childhood
On this warm
        February day
I ask ?
        Where are the snows
that once covered
        the hills of my childhood
the snows that tumbled
        into the stream
and floated on
        into the empty distance ?

I mistyped distance
        and it became dustance
a new word to describe
        old times
the old snows
        for example
of my childhood
        my neverlasting
childhood
        the substance
of distance
        in time

As a child
        wherever I saw
a pendulum within the body
        of a grandfather clock
I would halt the swing
        so that time stood still
I gave it no thought then
        it was instinctive

Age has taught me
        if nothing else
that my childhood instincts
        were right on target
time is the killer
        and wherever possible
it should be stopped
        in its tracks

John Lyons