Thin Ice
Vulnerant omnia, ultima necat
I walk on thin ice
at the frayed edge
of my life.
I search for the key
that will rewind me,
but I fail to find it.
Who will winch up
the pendulums on
my grandfather clock,
resetting it
in spring and fall?
Who will watch
time’s sharp black arrows
as they point the path
of moon change
and the fleeting hours?
Each hour wounds me.
Who will tend me
when that last one kills?
rogermoorepoet 
And what lovely bright thoughts to cheer in the new year!
Hang in there, Sir Raj.
It will soon be days of hollyhocks.
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Such an old adage: right back to the days of Ancient Rome. Some mornings, that’s what I feel like, though! I would rather be aware and somewhat prepared than have it sneak up on me, all unsuspecting, not that I have much choice in the matter.
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