An Hourglass Does Fill Poem by Amy J Richardson

There's a mushroom on a hill,
Or a toadstool of kind,
That stands as an umbrella will,
Upon the sands of time.
Grains form the hilly mountain,
In the bottom of the glass,
But flow upwards like a fountain,
Through the mushroom on the grass.
As the sands they fall back down,
And mark the flight of day,
The plant will seem to drown,
And it's fleshes will decay.
But that mushroom on the hill,
It grows with meaning deep,
An hourglass does fill,
But life won't go to sleep.

(3.42 am, Sunday 28th January, 2007)