Tuesday, March 04, 2008

Spring migration

This morning I beheld the jeweled grass,
Each dewy diamond etched upon my sight;
The tattered, paling sky with rain amass'd,
Was backdrop to the vee of geese in flight;

And in me woke again the yen to live
In careless freedom, winging high aloft,
When never did I doubt I would outlive
Time's insults, slights or smirks or petty scoffs;

So, upward yet again, I sally forth,
Like elder goose, in wake of lofty shape;
As yet too young to waste in hoary North,
My sinews stretch'd to lethargy escape;

Alas, a tally of one's sins grows long,
And beat of aging wings is not so strong;

1 comment:

Shus li said...

Great poem! Ah, the pangs of middle age setting in....

Is it a sonnet?