The Measure

by Peter Saint-Andre

Encampment River Trail, October 7th, 2000

A million grains lie in the glass:
The hours that fate may let me pass,
The hours of striving or of rest
(What at that moment I deem best).

Half of the grains wait in the top,
Half of the grains lie where they've dropped,
One grain alone moves as I live:
The hour that's full of what I give.

This hour can seem to last a day
If I but let my powers play
And give what's of my deepest core:
Thought, choice, and action — nothing more.

Yet what for me is nothing less
Are powers mixed with interest
That long and deep in me abides
Where life and nature coincide.

It's here that, when attention's strong,
Each moment seems an hour long,
The flow of time is one with pleasure,
And life achieves its natural measure.

Peter Saint-Andre > Writings > Ancient Fire