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.
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