Time Is a River

Time is a river, a vast rushing torrent.
At its center it runs fast and deep,
but at its edge it meanders in shallow eddies
or, perhaps, collects in stagnant pools
left behind by the swift flow
of the main current that streams
toward the ocean of Godís eternity.

Our sojourn here is a tree
planted by the waterís edge,
drawing its life from the
flowing river of time,
destined to return to that stream
when its days are spent.

Will our autumn leaf fall
close to the riverís edge,
to circle about in an aimless eddy
or molder in a pool of slime?

Or will the wind of the Spirit
lift our fallen leaf to mid-stream where,
borne by the swift current of time,
it finds its Maker in that ocean
where time is no more?