Fifty And Two
L
Laurence Overmire
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A half century on the planet
A man begins perhaps
To become that which
He was destined to
Become.
Fifty winters takes its toll
The child finally put
To soft bed goodnight
The day far more precious
The night slipping into dream
Time is no impertinent master
But a ragged beggar
In need and knocking on the
Door.
Who will answer?
Which one will finally
Make the choice
That makes the difference?
Which one
These many faces of our inmost
Selves
Which comes forward
At the closing of the hour?
The true self is true
Witness
To whatever's yet to unfold
The world waiting…
That which was once begun
Makes its final turn
‘Round the twisting bend of
Fortune.
~ Laurence Overmire
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