Till Spring

The charm of love laid well, shall never pass, let every lass a lad, and lad a lass; that they might know, the limbs of spring anew...where leaves are green on every bough.

Thou, youth, t'were meant to taste of tender things. Oh, youth, to wantonly, desire. Otherwise, why were we bent, at birth...to be so naked and afire?

It is not loss, to be an aged one, if still, our eyes are clear to gaze. Perchance a youth will come who needs the spice, of hand and kind advice. For, I was once like you.

Now, fall and winter come, where hearth's a treasured thing. A plan without a trap...where times are lean, young man...a blanket we might share...till spring.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: Illustration by Robert Anning Bell, 1908, Pan and boy