This is a poem about being comforted by older people instead of being afraid of them or of getting older.
We ran out of milk, but not sunshine.
All the years had been had.
Mine yet to see.
The tiredness under their eyes.
Crow's-feet and pursed lips.
This barren youth, a sham, awash
thrown onto unfamiliar sands,
clutching hands.
This wasted youth, a crying shame;
they can ill afford me. Suspenders
and sun hats, blouses buttoned to the top,
gray hair and gossip.
"Won't you have some tea with me?"
But I'm the one doing the talking.
They defy their years.
Salting my drying fears.
© 2006 Anne Westlund
Poetry by Anne Westlund
Read 746 times
Written on 2006-10-12 at 22:31
Tags Hope
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Age
We ran out of milk, but not sunshine.
All the years had been had.
Mine yet to see.
The tiredness under their eyes.
Crow's-feet and pursed lips.
This barren youth, a sham, awash
thrown onto unfamiliar sands,
clutching hands.
This wasted youth, a crying shame;
they can ill afford me. Suspenders
and sun hats, blouses buttoned to the top,
gray hair and gossip.
"Won't you have some tea with me?"
But I'm the one doing the talking.
They defy their years.
Salting my drying fears.
© 2006 Anne Westlund
Poetry by Anne Westlund
Read 746 times
Written on 2006-10-12 at 22:31
Tags Hope
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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