Rolling of the Year

Rolling of the Year

I but watched from afar,
the rolling of the year.
I could not touch those who touched,
those who saw,
those who heard,
the arc of life I intersected.

I drifted through the year,
a wind-wave through brown grass.
I followed softly winding fields.
I read the rainfall from mighty clouds,
that washed soft, silken dust,
from limb and leaf.

I sealed a promise with the soil,
the residue of years,
upon the bones
of decades of death;
of life and death.
Voiceless, I silently sang
the simple song of ages,
to mark time's purpose and flight.

I cried when youth departed,
when passion's fire grew cooler,
when harvest touched my heart,
when winnowing wind laid bare my soul.
And I could but watch from afar,
the rolling of the year.

Mick McKellar
December 2015

As the end of the year rolls by, isolated, I watch from afar and wonder at its passage...

Mick