A Lazy Day


And now as this northern wind blows cold

I desire to read poets and writers of old-

those scribes we can no longer blithely hire

as I sit sipping tea under a blanket by the fire.

Oh give me a pithy Shakespearean play

to digest as I dreamily drain the day away

or a hearty Dickens feast to eat

or an Austen romance, both naive and sweet…

for as the autumn and winter set in again

I feel the need to be with long buried friends.




The passions of youth:

emotional upheavals and highs,

turmoil in incompleteness,

throwing everything to the wind.

The passions of old age:

calming of the spirit,

noticing joy in simplicity,

finding clarity through beauty.

The passions of middle age:

sometimes passions of youth,

sometimes passions of old age,

sometimes, if lucky, figuring it out.