Saturday, May 10, 2008

A SONNET TO AGE by Ian Jones

I feel it now when I arise at dawn
My body like a question mark
The legacy of bones and tendons torn
A tired old dog that somewhere lost his bark.

My face records the dramas of my life
A line, a scar for every desperate day
An expression not reflective of the strife
That haunts my memories of a troubled way.

Half the friends my schooldays made are dead
Some lost, some ravaged, some just strayed
Most never made it to the dreams we had
When dreams were dreamed and games were played
The joys of life are sweet for those who dare
But age a privilege only some of us will share

Ian Jones, Clifton ©

No comments: