When, I Am Old
Here stood a tree, I remember it well...upon the top of look-out hill,
it swayed and danced of dreams untold and traced the sky of love behold,
a place where youthful days begone, though still alive a drifting song...
When, I am old and the hour of death is close at hand, I shall count the falling grains of sand and traipse in dance a book of dreams to lie along the winding stream. I shall confess each sin upon the sky and drown the guilt of days gone by.....
held in his aged hands
lie folded with silken lines
one thousand poems
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