Time Must Have A Stop

An abandoned farm, somewhere in western South Dakota.

Like numberless others, it stands empty,

waiting for a rebirth that never comes.

The work clothes in the garage are still hang.

Hanging where the last tenant left them.

The insects and the weather has turned them into tatters,

in due course the whole farm will return to the soil.

The soil which once nourished it.

Time must have a stop.

There is a time each of us must hang up our clothes.

One last time, a time to let it all go,

a time to let time flow on without us,

untroubled by the eddies of our lives.