One
There is one poem
and we are all making it,
cell by seed by stanza.
There is one song
and we are all singers,
one dance for all us dancers,
and so on and so forth.
It is Ms. Time, that housekeeper,
who comes tick, tick, ticking
into our lives with her thin hands,
putting some of us here,
with the socks, or there,
with the ukulele.
It is Ms. Time, who polishes
our tarnished faces,
oils our hinges,
mends our elbows and our knees.
It is Ms. Time, who carries
us into the kitchen
as if we were ingredients
for Mortality Stew.
We must remember to remember.
There is one birth
and we are all newborns.
There is one death
and we are all fatalities.
There is one future
and we are all waiting.
--Mary
Ann Waters
Copyright © 1993 by Free Lunch Arts Alliance
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