Memories In A Minor Key

The metronome ticked slowly every day But no one told the singing thrush outside Performing its unscripted roundelay Its sweet crescendo swelling in its side Along the garden, see a silver trail Silent beneath the Tom Thumbs' gaudy flowers Dragging her pack like Sisyphus, the snail Secretly passes through the summer hours A diva's on the rose, a butterfly Flips her wings open like an opera fan A cloud, like white-lace- lilac in the sky Floats over a small toddler's one day span A thrush, a snail, a butterfly, a cloud One morning's memory, a minor key Remembered from the cradle to the shroud A glimpse, a tiny snatch of ecstasy