| My granddaughter chased a dancing leaf that autumn winds made fly. Before it dropped she turned and found another game, But I pursued and caught it so that now between some quarters and a mound of pebbles there it rests upon my dresser top. Old Tennyson’s old king speaks to me now as never in the past. There’s nothing strange in that because my seventh decade nearly has its hand upon my shoulder. I like him have been beyond the seas and long once more to hop across them. But though one foot's out the door the other lingers here at home among my store of memories, the years condensed in books of pictures on a shelf that overlooks that dead leaf resting on my dresser top. ` And here I sit between collected yesterdays and coveted tomorrows, drinking coffee and writing a poem. |
| Created on 6 March 2022, updated on 22 May 2022 by Samuel Ethan Fox |