Mutability

All that changes is unchanging,

What is seen and unseen too

Much the churn of green, of lively

Flecks that spin, and rearrange,

In the soundless dawn of days,

A universe of subtle aging,

In endless secret reconnections,

Sub-atomic struggles raging,

By a shrouded spirit blithely.

And so it comes to pass -

(I write this with a sigh),

Our days on earth are like the grass;

like wildflowers we bloom and die,

And ever darkly through the glass

The wind blows, and we are gone - 

The wind blows, and we are gone,

Absenting all once stood upon.