In my 70’s now, people often refer to me as being in the autumn (even early winter) of my years. Well, physically, yes, of course I am, but there is a spirit in me (as in all of us who know better) that beats its wings and sings its heart out just as if it were spring…
Gay or straight, we all get old; the trick is never, but never, let anyone make you feel old.
HUMAN SPIRIT, WINGS OF THE DAY
Bursting into spring
come a skylark into song
at the first subtle hint
of a new day’s spreading
its wings
Up, up, and away
like that beautiful kite
we'd fly in a breeze
on daisy hilltops, spreading
news of us…
across cornfields,
and chuckling streams,
busy, smoky streets,
touching base with lovers
like us ...
Demanding heads
in sand look up, take note,
spread the word
to watch out for us settling
nearby…
listen to epic tales
ever worked and reworked
by history,
world taking us to its heart
or not ...
or not ...
Sailing into spring
on a nightingale’s lullaby
come the first hint
of twilight at a day’s folding
its wings
Copyright R. N. Taber 2017
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