I can't recoup
the harvest
of youth's ***** days
the green field
I trod upon
is now but parched land
pitiful remnants
of my memory

that's nothing left
to reclaim amidst the ruin
of love lost and hopes abandoned
the now is sombre and  bereft

millions of words
have been written
and spoken
they only weigh heavy
on the heart, fragmented
and torn broken
how foolish was youth
to believe love
was the garden of Eden

late winter is laden
with melancholy
and pathos-  old age
weeps in surrender
to time's cruel ravage
how grim and bleak
is its message

when the harvest
is over and the past
is a forgotten dream
what's left to salvage?