Decades

O life's strange procession moves on, The summer is almost over. The air's heavy with nostalgia: With the scent of fading roses. I recall the tainted glories Of beloved ones now gone. O praised be the peace that passes Ordinary understanding. Its a design of rare gold Etched in the silvery night. The pale mystery of moonlight: Its sense of serene seclusion; Seems to remove the trails of doom. The ethereal beauty, of Mozart's piano concertos, Seems to fill this room's emptiness. I cry like a child although I'm old now. I remember being young and carefree. I can still hear vague traces of laughter Of lovers & friends & acquaintances That float freely on the freshening breeze. I stand by the gate at the garden's end. Six decades have passed in no time at all. I see the children of morning's new face; Casually plucking flowers as they play. I think of all the time that's passed me by. Each inevitable turn of season. Between the primal, warm, green spark of birth And the mid summer of my tender youth; Between the pathways walked a thousand times In search of shining Truth and the time Spent alone as starry eyed creator. Between sketchy notion & the honed craft Of conception lies a lifetime's labour. O I've so much work still left to complete; Many heavy burdens still to carry. O I'm haunted by unearthly figures. They're half in soft light; half in shade; Always desperately calling out my name. Each evening I watch the leaves as they fall: Red, gold and brown on Autumn's solemn ground. I try to cry out in the cold October dawn. For I'm still moved by strong passions that burn Like slow, consuming fires deep down inside The time has come to retreat from this world Of fleeting shadows and embrace silence. I'll merely observe the birds as they nest, And watch the clouds as they drift by and die.