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All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems permission to use
provided by the author. |
Thirty-eight is past his time of
morning,
Happy in the passions of his noon.
Incandescent in his sweet surrender,
Remembering all the joys he can remember,
This sun reflects the wisdom of the moon,
Yearning for a beauty ever dawning.
Even so has Time with little warning
Insinuated its untimely tune,
Giving just the hint of a September
Halfway past the paradise of June.
To be is to be battered, blissful, burning. |