Present. Past. Future.
These are three beings I know.
Intangible and impalpable people
who nevertheless walk with me
in the snow.
Present and Future leave no
footprints for the eye,
and you would not even know they were there,
if Present’s boots did not crunch with a sigh.
Past indents the white field
with tracks that are faint and true,
left with flowers springing,
yet sometimes covered all too soon.
Present was a present,
wrapped in ribbon.
I don’t remember the day we met,
but for the bare scent of roses and citrus.
She was a friend of Past,
so it was said.
“I am your present from yesterday,”
so she said.
It is a curious thing however,
to know that Past was also a gift!
A gift to me in the future,
singing in sounds that ring
a deep sense of home in my
unhearing ears.
And odder yet,
about the one I have yet to introduce:
Future, who I have befriended least of all.
All I do know,
through the seasons of Fall,
with their mourning leaves dreading
the coming of Winter,
is that Future is a hope to us all.
Present is a present of the past,
Past is a gift to the future,
Future is a light for the present,
And I keep walking in the snow,
Until it is time to go.
