Second-hand bookshop
dust and cobwebs all over
not a breath of air

Balloons in the air
it's the village festival
kids **** lollipops

No, this won't do
I've moved too far away
from the destination I sought
no-- I must pause-
the telling-signs
are all over
the sky was friendly
when my journey started
the trees waved as though
to wish me bon voyage
the flowers danced
in the wind
and murmured the clear stream
as though to say:
'follow your dream'
the open road did smile
that I was sure
when I walked my first mile

I had no compass
my heart was
my navigator

(my thoughts
to the past
this hour
they did wander)--

youth, ah, youth
the grandeur
the splendour
the wonder
the ardour
the giving-up never
the dream bestower
the nothing-could-be bolder
the Utopian-follower
the ideals-seeker
the tireless wanderer
the eternal lover--

the heart on fire
***** was desire

  but
reality is never
  the benefactor
  of the desirer)

  and now
  I am young
  no longer
  wrinkles gather
  my look is sterner
my demeanour
is austerer
my feelings
they are far from tender
my heart is colder--

a step backwards
I must walk
it's useless now
to think
or talk--

but as my head
I turn
I discover
there's no trace
of my footprint

in time
I freeze
not knowing
what to do next--
I am hopelessly-
lost!

The moment
the feeling
the thought
the act
the words to say
and to avoid-
the beyond-self view
of life and of others
this then
should be the theme
of my religion
the daily engagement--

I have no place verily
for worship
but in this immediacy--

life
a brief interlude
before the curtain's fall
that which we are
or not
is the story and plot
we could count
to be a little of something
or nothing at all.

The years have told their stories
   and now as the past we recall
   love it still is but so much more
   new life it breathes and all

   that's gone before  redoubles
    its light which so radiantly glows
   never mind our glaring wrinkles
   and weakening sinews- our love grows

   in the sunshine of time renewed
  which but ripens the harvest we gather
  from the field where we once did labour
  despite the tears shed we'll remember

   the joys shared and the burden
   we bore--and now we know in life's bower
   youth was but a seed, middle-age a struggling bud
   and old age the long-awaited glorious flower

   our sight might be dimmer
   but our eyes still hold to their lustre
   the touch of our hands is even more tender
   silence a sweeter language it does whisper

   this is the midnight hour and thickest of winter
   the flame in the fire-place it begins to waver
   the night is closing in and the waters are receding in the river
   I look into your eyes where such beauty and love still  warmly    glitter.

Old red postal-box
how I revered in old days
I wrote love-letters

Grandma bound her feet
never once did she complain
she obeyed her mum