South West

South West

written by: Red Tussock

 

It comes to this in these sunclad hours,
When sitting in gilded grace,
To sit in silence, enduring,
Life’s next infliction of aged pain,
And look South West towards,
Shining schist-clad mountains,
And wonder how it was,
With such youthful ease,
We danced across those faces,
The valleys were only short pathways,
To palaces of rock that sat, in the near closeness,
Age seems to play with distance,
And that is the price you pay,
For growing old and restless.