Slow for the sake of flowers as they turn

Toward sunlight, graceful as a line of sail

Coming into the wind. Slow for the mill-

Wheel's heft and plummet, for the chug and churn

Of water as it gathers, for the frail

Half-life of spraylets as they toss and spill.

For all that lags and eases, all that shows

The winding-downward and diminished scale

Of days declining to a twilit chill,

Breathe quietly, release into repose:

Be still.