These Later Years

by revbillcook

Our early years, yes, were quite marvelous;

white porch swings & slow spring afternoons

when beneath your quiet eyes the first blush

of passion swelled & the low summer moon

poured its light across the sleeping grass.

& then our children ran through open fields

their laughter rising drifting bird-like  past

our golden dreams in Autumn’s shimmering world.

Still – as I watch you brush your white hair

that falls like snow on rising hills – the trace

of memory, your eyes , your lips , your care

worn body, the movement of your wrist,  such grace.

There is, I know, no season quite so fair

nor beauty found than in these later years.