Senescence

My children float away in the flood of youth My life is winding down. The house of life slowly subsides Amidst cracks and weeds The rain beats wearily drearily Over the fog-backed river. The maggot knocks in the night Dog eared moments Always come back to Highland burns Hosannahing down the Bens of distant childhood Lately the badger woods shrivel away like leaves Late in the ghost season, Those who were flesh come oftener in my dreams Wedded I was a poor crop A meagre harvest under sodden skies Talking to stones and moonshine I am the parent of my discontent The sermons of infancy roar in my ears But I can say, and this most truthfully I have loved the fox and the shy quick darting bird And wish them many blessings In the name of the wren, the sun, and the salmon under the rock