Out of the depths of days foregone
The light of hope may flicker still,
Although the charm of youth has run
Away to bend our strength and will.
Descending faster than a hawk
Whose claws hold fast their aching prey,
The ghost of time may never talk
If shining dawn has naught to say;
And yet your memory is close—
Much closer than the road to joy—
And blooms like autumn’s lonely rose
To challenge winter’s frosty ploy.
Away from light, away from all,
The winds of solitude remain
The only voice to heed the call
Of all whom grief and time can blame.
A further aeon may go by
Before another spring arrives
To warm the earth, to kiss the sky
And call the bees from empty hives.
Yet, then, the chain of life shall break
For me, for you, for all we are,
And scatter us away to make
More space for younger seeds afar.
Copyright © Eton Langford | Year Posted 2016
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