A Response to When You Are Old
Virid Bard has prayed for recollection.
When sacred springtime and summer jigs cease,
and bright, brave bones shall lose their grace and grease,
those things of yore may call his attention.
Stands petitioning invisible hands
against old-age psychoses that pick off brains,
as buzzards at brunch on carrion plains.
Time envelops men in quickening sands.
He asks that he should know his face, yours too;
Find the fullness of first love between looks.
He vows his pen shall praise you in books
when your black magic head turns silver-blue.
|