A Riddle

The only constant Never ceases or rests Takes away the familiar Puts askew memories Rearranges the trees hair Plants mismatched flowers in the fields Tears down abodes a twig at a time Patient as the earth is old: It can lift up a mountain range, in a millenium It can scoop out a hollow, swallow entire civilizations In just a few more. On breezy days, a million voices keening The same lullaby that sings us to sleep, Is the noise of capricious demolitions in the forest The noise of a sea coast being spirited away in the night Great cathedrals being excavated beneath us Oceans ever rising and falling like a cosmic stock market And there is even time left over For playing musical chairs with clouds And tickling laughing children Who still think they can run away from it.