Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Canal of days

Life is a canal
and we are narrow boats
with no reverse gear.

Each night,
each sleep,
is a lock.

We enter the lock
and the water of yesterday
is released.

Afterwards we emerge
into tomorrow,
to another gated day.

Behind us and above that again,
above that and behind again,
lie the days gone by.

Ahead, only one day,
its prospect, its gate,
its fall.

Gone the hundreds,
hail the one.
Oh lucky swans.

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