May we all be spared
the lens of poets
for ignorance is bliss
and only they truly know it

May I never be so old
That I can’t lie on a floor
Or become so set in my ways
That thinking makes me sore!

May I not be so dismayed
By what I can’t do anymore
And be mindful of what I can do
That I could not do before

May I laugh at the bitter cold
Even when it seems a chore
Appreciate the green of Spring
Isn’t that what Winter’s for?

May I season my old age
With a some pepper and some sage
And hope my conversation
Is not a dreadful bore

Sandman
Be his friend this night
Keep them away until first light

Spare him the nightmare
The brink of his waking
The sweat of his body
It’s tireless quaking

Mommy and Daddy
Throw him under that train
Leave him in sheets
Stiff in dried stains

Why won’t they leave him
Alone in his bed
Or, at least, show some mercy
And send monsters instead

Every person on this earth
Has a truth
And when that person dies
That truth does not die with him
For better or for worse
It lives bent and twisted in the shadow
Of someone living

Sometimes taking
Sometimes giving

Walking into rooms
Familiar but unknown
Standing along dance floors
Usually alone
Sitting next to ghosts
In dimly lit bars
Staring out windows
At all the moving cars
He feels like the new kid
In the middle of the year
Introduced to the class
Then put back in the rear
Like something unused
And up on a shelf
Hopping down sometimes
To shake the dust off himself
An impotent wire
That needs plugging in
Not knowing how
Is his only sin

She appears along the avenue
In Victorian elegance
Her feet bouncing beneath her skirt
As if itching for a dance
She twirls her lacy parasol
High into the air
Moves across a crowded walk
As if no one else was there
May dear sweet Eliza-Doo
Woven in the fabric of her time
I find myself an unhappy man
Living without her in mine

How the mind is like the sea
capable of great rage
and also of such bountiful stillness
when it's waters are calm
so seems all the world