Sonnet 157, The Moments Come
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Peter S. Quinn
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The moments come and leave before we know,
And nothing here forever stays the same;
These instants are like tides of sea that flow,
Or a distant light of a twinkling flame.
Now there's beginning of summer's treasure,
Where everything is full of life's progress;
Later paleness will come to each such pleasure,
As winter again each flower caress.
And barren each tree of its beauty leaf,
With grayness of colors and withering on;
Sending mourning hearts a loss and a grief,
When there are only the shades to be drawn.
But again comes sun with blossoming bright,
To distil away the confronting night.
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