Someday I will be alone
like now, and I'll recall
how the bard owl proclaimed

The night is late, the spring is young
tree pollen collects on the swing
while my children sleep

Adulthood shall embrace them
as old age takes me, grudgingly
hair falls from my head as I run
Crows feet no longer hide
but track me to here
sipping red wine at a table

Knowing nothing, knowing
time cannot be stopped
my wine glass is half full

And I shall pour
blood from the vine
mixing new with the old.

Gregory Zeorlin  4/15/2005  10:30pm
New and old