Wednesday, June 30, 2021
And from the surge of his sputtering dynamo --
Pushing and pleading, cajoling
Old and familiar words to carry more:
To hang longer in the dusty air,
To sizzle and pop and dance
With the urges and sins of youth --
Almost forgotten, except in dusty dreams.
Savory words, gone salty and rich
With harmonies of hue and hazy shadow,
Beckon your child mind to drift and dream,
Through a honey-rich patina, polished
By ageless passage and care;
To find the youthful spirits and ageless wonders
Who linger there.
Why do old men write poems? One question. One million answers.
Posted by Mick at 12:33 PM