Sands of Time

Time ran through her fingers like sand
As children not yet born haunted her dreams
Playing under blood-red moons
Those children unconceived
Had lurked for years in the shadows
As she fielded the whens and the whys and why nots
From the well-meaning or just plain nosey
Cloaked now in the invisibility of a woman past middle age
She let go her long-held breath
Lay back
And surrendered herself to the blood-red moon