Monday, November 11, 2019

I have not yet learned to be old ...

I have not yet learned to be old:
My world
Glistens with sky-eyed wonder.
My heart
Still dances under the stars
Tasting moonlight;
While my feet,
Toe tangled in grass,
Wiggle to their own rhythm.

Laugh with me,
Bright leaves of spring,
Chortle the air with birdsong!
Search each storm
For rainbows!
Rest within the shade’s embrace,
Smiling at dandelions.

What is this thing called age?
Dull paint upon the body’s chariot?
An extra blanket in the howling wind?
A sorrow for the things that are no more?
A little pain?
A softness in the heart?

These shall not make me old,
Shall not defeat
My butterfly-skipping hopes,
The prayers that bind,
Fiercer than fierce,
To glories just beyond
My fingers’ reach.
I shall stretch out my sails
With hands that time has cobbled into knots,
To catch the dawn-wind of my Father’s love,
And steer to brave horizons,
Learn new songs,
And, open-handed, face both day and night.

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