Into the Sunset

A poem

Photo by Tim Marshall on Unsplash

Memories plucked from wood and field
gather a harvest of barren regrets,
softened by welcomed solitude.
Though days pass in stately procession,
evenings come with slow steps.

The rosy twilight, the royal arrogance of youth,
this pith and sinew of mature manhood
now simply a book to beguile the tedious hours,
written at the threshold of life’s winter.

Old songs, ancient voices that charm the ear
are subtle resonances that echo gently,
stirring the pendulous eyelids of old age,
soft-bleared, at the dimming of our day.