As I grow older
lost in youthfulness.
The sky draws darker
at its deepening
appears less troubled,
and leaves fall
fast into winter
full of sleep
yet not so gray as
the sun comes closer.
love the shadows deep,
the wandering days
But Yeats warned me
so I’ve been waiting
and expecting it
as the thistle down
and out of
time for murmuring
how love did escape
to will more
of life in its wake.
Writing note: Here is the poem that prompted mine…
When You Are Old
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
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