Mid-day Poem, March 28, 2017



Look, young man, at the trees arrayed in green

You say to yourself that it is now they are alive

It is now, in full flower, that they are what they were meant to be

And you feel it in your own limbs, the sap rushing, the strength pulsing

This, you believe, while you are in the strength of your days,

Is what you were meant to be

But count the weeks of the year, young man

And name the months of flower and leaf; of green and gold

They are shorter than those of dying autumn, barren winter and raw, windy spring


The days of yellow summer are only a moment, only a promise

You must hold this blood rush, this picture of perfect strength

In your hearts as the days go on and return again to bare wood

When you will neither fly nor run, but walk without fail

Remembering with each step the days of sunlight and music.


copyright 2017

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