There is a Season (pantoum)

You could not bottle time,
to use a long-dead metaphor,
when love was in its prime
and promised joy for evermore.

To use a long-dead metaphor
our fruitful time was golden ripe
and promised joy for evermore
as witness by the words I type.

Our fruitful time was golden ripe,
a season under everything:
(as witness by the words I type)
a time to hold, a time to cling

to seasons under everything
as limpets stick to drowning bed;
a time to hold, a time to cling
in tidal flow and surging ebb

as limpets stick to drowning bed
when love was in its prime;
in tidal flow and surging ebb
you could not bottle time.