Completing Seventy
B
Barry Middleton
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seventy springs have passed away
I see a new magnolia bloom
the breeze that drifted into May
bids me to leave my shuttered room
too much depression traps defeat
as life goes on beyond my door
the metaphor is blind conceit
and yet it's one that I adore
I still get by without a cane
and I can still compose a rhyme
although the sickness in my brain
demands its pay in overtime
but I will answer to the call
and old obsessions of the past
before the mystery of the fall
conceals all things that cannot last
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