Young At Heart
I swept the cinders from the hearth
clambake soot billowed veils
of a past where frequent refuge sought
the path that never pales.
Eyes of mine, their apples cored,
pips blackly shone and squeaked;
with laughing tears trickling,
the moistened lustre leaked.
Young at heart, you twinkle bright
a gem in memories of grey,
a fire to ignite my life,
a light to guide the way...
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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