Walk Slowly through Bowered Lanes

Walk slowly through bowered lanes; who knows
How many years are left to us to gaze,
To feel, to decide?

Feel the rain on upturned head, the sun
Blazing onto winter-bleached skin?
And then who knows if, when night comes
The sun will rise the next day?

Walk slowly through bowered paths.
Walk straight, with eyes that see
The skin on fingers ready to touch
The soul deserves that much.