The Joy of Time
They say the joy of birth is in a moment,
the moment when lights blind you so,
the moment when warm hands make
a promise to hold you forever.
They say the joy of childhood is in
the days, the days spent peering
at tiny creatures, the days of feeling
honeyed breaths grace youthful lungs.
They say the joy of adulthood is in
the months, the months spent making
dreams become realities, the months
of watching little cries become eager voices.
They say the joy of age is in the years,
the years spent watching your dreams
realize dreams of their own, the years
of cultivating your love for all things.
They say that there is no joy in death,
but I tell you that its joy is in the moment:
the moment when the joy of life becomes
crystallized in old bones, when the eye
loses its lightness and the soul gains its own,
when a single moment becomes forevermore.