Passing of An Age
Fine sentiments, the antiques in the attic,
In the sunbeams of the rafters shined,
Found a place and glittered more emphatic,
Never to be ushered from the mind.
With the fated feelings of departing,
Sorrow swathed the dust sheet where it lay
Covering the furniture and starting
Turning to a softer shade of grey.
How the twilight hours seem so lasting
Now the year of close has come to pass;
So toast the bones and runes as they are casting
Caution never more an empty glass.
Pastures new a fresher apparition,
Magnetise the musing of the sage,
And praying misty-eyed of this condition,
Bow down and mourn the passing of an age.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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