Death has earth,
           placed in.
Grain to grain,
           shout the fear out.
Human body,
           to aim his soul
Dig the memories,
           hiding hole!
Love got sky,
           climbing up.
Cloud to cloud,
           even above,
On snow,on rain,
           letting trace,
Wingging space,
           showing grace.
Either strong..
           either smooth,
Over straining,
           me embrace.
Stuck in dint,
           closed freely,
Tearing my soul,
           a luster pace!

I was seventy-seven, come August,
  I shall shortly be losing my bloom;
I've experienced zephyr and raw gust
  And (symbolical) flood and simoom.

When you come to this time of abatement,
  To this passing from Summer to Fall,
It is manners to issue a statement
  As to what you got out of it all.

So I'll say, though reflection unnerves me
  And pronouncements I dodge as I can,
That I think (if my memory serves me)
  There was nothing more fun than a man!

In my youth, when the crescent was too wan
  To embarrass with beams from above,
By the aid of some local Don Juan
  I fell into the habit of love.

And I learned how to kiss and be merry--an
  Education left better unsung.
My neglect of the waters Pierian
  Was a scandal, when Grandma was young.

Though the shabby unbalanced the splendid,
  And the bitter outmeasured the sweet,
I should certainly do as I then did,
  Were I given the chance to repeat.

For contrition is hollow and wraithful,
  And regret is no part of my plan,
And I think (if my memory's faithful)
  There was nothing more fun than a man!