Free Verse

The past and present 

march on with no end

the clock keeps time

but who keeps the clock

as sweeping rocks erode the

thoughts of passing wanders

storm clouds gather in eyes of

gold, the ring is passed 

through generations in time from

the stones in the babbling brook(e)

rare, they may be 

but alone and left to be 

as they are, apart 

from time 

past and present