adventures in dysthymia

Friday, November 08, 2013

I Who Was Young, a poem

Moon of silver, sun of gold,

I who was young now grow old.
Daylight dims, night grows cold,
Should I fear death, I who was bold?

Life is short, forever is long,
I tried to do right, often did wrong.
Will is weak, wine was strong,
I would forget the words to my song.

Moon of silver, queen of night,
I knew you once, grown full and bright,
And madly I danced, by your light,
But those who danced with me fled from sight.

Last fading stars, by dawn swept away,
I, as you, may no longer stay.
Yet you return, come end of day;
Where I might go, I can not say.

Every road walked, every tale told;
All I then loved I could not hold.
Sun of morning, spun of gold,
I who was young have grown old.

Stephen Brooke ©2013 

I think this still somewhat rough

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