These Later Years

Our early years were yes quite marvelous - white porch swings & slow spring afternoons when beneath your quiet eyes the first blush of passion swelled & the low summer moon poured its light across the sleeping grass & then our children ran through open fields their laughter rising drifting bird-like past our golden dreams in Autumn’s shimmering world - Still – as I watch you brush your white hair that falls like snow on rising hills – the trace of memory – your eyes – your lips – your care worn body – the movement of your wrist – such grace - there is I know no season quite so fair nor beauty found than in these later years.