The sun sees nothing as our planet turns
around its orb, but we know that we age,
that every sunreturn's another page
in a long record. Anyone who earns
an adult life eventually learns
not simply how to read but how to gauge
the difference between charlatan and sage
yet finds his heart with secret fires still burns.
Over the miles we've come with weary feet
to find our satisfactions in the task
that life has dealt us, and to find our voice
rising with pleasure as our friends we greet,
happy to grant, yet always glad to ask,
and knowing what we know we may rejoice.
Odd ravings, comments, and other wastes of time. Some are in plain prose, yet others are in rhyme.
29 September 2007
For Michael Cooke at 50
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment