Winter, that
season of old ageing, is now upon me,
Old teeth
chattering loose, upon my memory´s tree,
Blood curdling
coldly, within the blue-veined paths,
Rheumy eyed
tears, gathering in loose-lidded baths.
Split, bent,
iced & brittle, those yellowing crisp bones,
Snap cracking
within the winds, like ancient old stones,
The voice
that once sung, is now silent upon the breeze,
Breaking
upon the grey rocks of time, as salty as old seas.
My frost
kissed hair falling, as the last of autumnal leaves,
No more gathered
in bows, as golden harvested sheaves,
The season
of ancient ageing, in now upon my old being,
Yet, spring
adorns my eyes afar, within my life´s new seeing.
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