Catch Poem by Robert Melliard

We're only in July but autumn's on its way.
The chestnut trees are sticking out
thin, knobbly fingers, reminding us
their nuts will soon be bulging.

Time is going too fast, as everyone agrees:
can poems put a stop to this?
Just for a while, can they catch the hours?

As we get older, we grasp at whatever
to slow things down or hold things up:
poems, photos, moments with our grandkids.

I have just seen chestnut trees
in a way I never had before,
and I have tried to catch them,
freeze them, frame them:
at least I tried...