On the farther side
of time I stand
much of old age
is memory bent
towards scenes
that defie ravage
and demand
to be remembered
and resurrected --

I am held powerless.

Life is now
falling foliage
the leaves have
dark-brown turned
days and nights
are serene and sober
enough of love
past love had yearned
pain and sorrow re-echo
in tearful refrain
over and over again --

at this dying hour
regret is but all in vain
night is a disdainful mocker
there's nothing left
either for loss or gain.