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.