Thirty-Nine
You're in your prime at forty
Over the hill beyond
For Nature's far too naughty
To those of whom she's fond
But who hears of the nearer slope
Before the final height,
The year that hangs a gentle rope
Against the coming night?
The inward herald of the bones
With creak and grind portends
The weakened mortar, crumbling stones,
The beauty that pretends.
The outward wall of flesh and skin
Like plaster on the cracks
Hides all the wage of youthful sin
That's coming due for tax.
This is the year of coming change
A rare and subtle wine
The year forgettable and strange
When you were thirty-nine.
You're in your prime at forty
Over the hill beyond
For Nature's far too naughty
To those of whom she's fond
Over the hill beyond
For Nature's far too naughty
To those of whom she's fond
But who hears of the nearer slope
Before the final height,
The year that hangs a gentle rope
Against the coming night?
The inward herald of the bones
With creak and grind portends
The weakened mortar, crumbling stones,
The beauty that pretends.
The outward wall of flesh and skin
Like plaster on the cracks
Hides all the wage of youthful sin
That's coming due for tax.
This is the year of coming change
A rare and subtle wine
The year forgettable and strange
When you were thirty-nine.
You're in your prime at forty
Over the hill beyond
For Nature's far too naughty
To those of whom she's fond
Labels: Poetry
etched with acid at 8:47:00 am
4 Comments:
happy birthday! =) rare and subtle wine indeed...but forgettable?
hmm sorry I ended our conversation rather abruptly today =( it was something of dire importance, a situation of life or death...hope you understand ;)
Thank you! I think I'm a Pinot Noir, more than anything else, although sometimes I feel like a Shiraz. And yes, Life and Death are both more important than either of us. *grin*
I feel too old already, seeing that my life is already roughly about 20% completed.
This comment has been removed by the author.
Post a Comment
<< Home