This poem shouts out at me, every time I read it. I found it in a book called "Just Dogs." I find it somewhat unbelievable that the author is listed as 'Anonymous'.
Play House
Oh! Happy Boy; you have not lost your years
You lived them through and through in those brief days
When you stood facing Death! The are not lost!
They rushed together as the waters rush
From many sources! You had all in One!
Why should we mourn
your happiness? You burned clear flame, while he
Who treads the endless march of dusty years
Grows blind and choked with dust before he dies.
And dying, gives back to the primal dust
And has not lived so 'long' in those long years
As you in your few, vibrant, golden months,
When, like spendthrift, you gave all you were.
-Anon.
I've got your back. Talk to you soon. -Tailwind
No comments:
Post a Comment