The track beyond the gate leads to the sun
low in the sky now day is nearly done;
tall hedges either side harbour the birds
that cackle disapproval when disturbed;
bright clover heads' white horses fleck green seas
while trees, restless as waves, ripple the breeze.
A blackbird porpoises the viscous glare
with feathered fingers dipping, trailing air,
spreading behind invisible vortices
that swirl the few remaining bumble bees.
A lake of silence drowns the distant knolls
and flowers swim deep in scattered perfumed shoals.
The sinking sun inflames the anchored clouds
and I relax alone far from all crowds -
and yet not quite alone, one rabbit peers
between the bushes, still but taut with fears
of fox or weasel or that monster, Man,
and I try not to scare it if I can.
A little magic mouse, night's butterfly,
eddies the air with angular sallies by,
hunting the edge of these allotment plots
where moths seem unaware of what's
in store for them - a sudden end to life.
Will my end be as quick? I see my wife
below the slope where our house stands alone
empty of children now our birds have flown.
Our lives drift onward with momentum kept
from busier days and interests now all swept
away. What is there left in life for me
but her who's been my partner constantly ?
I haven't always treated her as well
as she deserved and she could surely tell
of pain unmerited caused by my flaws
which she for love of me kindly ignores.
The lingering summer light still drains away
and evening fears crawl out again to prey
upon a mind enfeebled by old age,
still mired in mediocrity, not sage
as honest effort and experience should
have made it and the young man thought they would.
A distant car crawls like a beetle by,
lights in the gloom aping a firefly
but sweating dirt and grating through its gears
to leave the twilight whistling in my ears.
June is so poignant, mid-summer eve like death;
evenings that last forever vanish like breath.
Now they begin, the funerals of friends.
Where previously one dutifully attends
a family wake with relatives unknown
to younger members, now those young have grown
to fill the coffins fashioned at their birth
regardless of success or moral worth.
Old friends begin to tread the narrow track
where all life's multitudinous paths lead back
to what they came from - time's oblivion
in dissolution not reunion.
The floating band of dusk wears like a charm
the burnished copper coin against night's harm.
I missed what life was all about and why.
What can I do worthwhile before I die ?
How can I fill, so late, a fading life
that never played a part in business strife,
that's nearly picked undone the Gordian knot
oF disentangling children from the plot
and long since willed itself against all chance
of aged infatuation to enhance
an otherwise dull life that lacked the drive
to status, power or fame (while still alive!)?
The Earth revolves some more; the stars soon vie
the absent sun, a flush upon the sky.
Too late for action, knowledge may suffice
but what's important is told in a trice:
things living die however long their day -
there is no shrine that sells eternal play;
and wealth does not ennoble but deprave
both those who have and those who only crave;
Man's vanity and pride are a disgrace -
love and compassion save the human race.
But turn your eyes away from human strife;
admire the impossible complexity of life.
Without such truths, trite as they are, to show,
knowing no more than when we came, we go.
The blushing pastel cheek of sky's delight
brushes the dark jowled face of Earth goodnight.
No comments:
Post a Comment