Plaintive horns below,
Summer's promise on the wind.
Rooftop gardening.

Dogs run free, unleashed.
The park sprouts noisy color.
Coats and bonds are shed.

Spring breeze high above.
On Lady Liberty's torch,
Falcons nest in hope.

Pavement cracks with age.
Springtime calls, "Come live with me."
One brave flower heeds.

(Time's Cry was written for, and is dedicated to,
all of my friends who were once part of
the Skunks group. --JKC)

Time's Cry

The tavern glows from smiling panes,
Pressing at the shadowed dusk.
I know there should be voices here,
Of comrades, strangers, friends.

I know this with my every thought,
Know it as I know my name.
I should be hearing voices now
Of comrades, strangers, friends.

But nothing of the tavern's life
Reaches me across the air.
I hear no murmured whispering
Of comrades, strangers, friends.

Time's cry it is that's deafened me,
Drowning out the siren song
Of merriment and subtleties
Of comrades, strangers, friends.

Time's cry beats shrill upon my ears,
Forcing me to turn away
From spirits I would rather share,
From comrades, strangers, friends.

So lift them for me, friends, I ask.
Make the rafters shake with song.
Time's cry insists that I must stray
From comrades, strangers, friends.