I am not a poet, though I've always wished I was. This month, being poetry month, I've actually written a few. But they tell me today is Poem in your Pocket day. And that means print one and carry it with you.
I know Keats is a little overdone, and love poems may seem trite. But this is the one I thought of first when I heard about PIYP day, and so I felt the need to honor that.
When You are Old
When you are old and gray and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead,
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
William Butler Yeats
and a draft.
Lilacs
Their scent perfumes my memory,
Purple, pink and white,
Full beards of the branches
Droop heavy
They bloom only a week or two
So abundant
Armfuls cut from the stems
Leave plenty
I crush the star shaped blossoms
Like damp tears against my cheek
They leave me longing
For home.
