© 2016 Steve King
All rights reserved
I watch at last while others pass me by,
their glad parade my happy respite now:
the songs, the dancing and the wondrous show,
all certain pleasures shining as they go.
I marvel while I watch at the remind
of every feeling that the young may hold,
of worlds unfurling, vast, before their feet,
and all strange puzzles they’d presume to know.
I am not near so wise as once I wished,
nor happy in that way that glosses dreams.
I greet the mornings now as a fair gift,
imparting with each newness all I seem,
or ever was, or ever may become,
no hasty needs to pierce the centered calm,
nor mar those graces morning might bestow.
And when these glad parades have had their play,
and airs are emptied of their new spun song,
there lingers always something in my ear,
the echo of old anthems ringing on,
and fading fanfares of parades at rest,
for every age must hold its own the best.
And though new fanfares rise to satisfy,
each morning grace shall be my symphony.
A new poem for The Poetry Pantry
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