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Youth takes my hand and holds me back,
as old age points the way
Unwilling yet to leave this Spring,
as Winter calls my name
The image in the mirror fresh,
the one my eyes now see
Of Lochinvar and Lancelot,
in dreamlike fantasy
The children see me older though,
their children older still
My spouse afraid I can't accept,
what time and seasons will
I hold on tight to wings that splay,
o'er fields both green and gold
And shun the backstairs of my fate,
-refusing to get old
(Trumbull Connecticut: February, 2017)
as old age points the way
Unwilling yet to leave this Spring,
as Winter calls my name
The image in the mirror fresh,
the one my eyes now see
Of Lochinvar and Lancelot,
in dreamlike fantasy
The children see me older though,
their children older still
My spouse afraid I can't accept,
what time and seasons will
I hold on tight to wings that splay,
o'er fields both green and gold
And shun the backstairs of my fate,
-refusing to get old
(Trumbull Connecticut: February, 2017)
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