As a young boy, he in the picture window,
would watch the trails of evening glow,
often wander in his mind upon a scene
unbeknownst to his fairy tale he’d glean
a story time, a response to travelers whim
that only resonated deep inside of him.
Oh to take away this permanence he’d feel
to understand such whirring of the wheel,
if by the instance of time in perpetual motion
he somehow be compelled to feel emotion
might then a pleasing notion allow a release
his frame to transport the window sill to peace.
Sitting by windows watching worlds rewind
their earlier response to the gradual mind.
We all might pause to wait upon a fantasy
whereby that love we seek may suddenly see
Oh to know the beauty of time’s recognition
when caught inside our dream’s elation.
Inside the glass will always remain a chance
recall of beauty’s elegance, her eyes enhance.