Late Middle Age

by Anton Wills-Eve

Moved to Tears

last time moved to tears

Late Middle Age

I Look not on the flowers that have faded

I dwell not on summer days in the sun,

Now replaced by memories of those jaded

Repetitive fetes without fun.

I Cheer my hopes and my heart, growing older,

With dreams not of what might have been.

But with images of still possible laughter,

With a love that is yet to be seen.

Seen, yes, but where can I find it

As I pass into late middle years?

When my eyes and my heart least expect it

A face fascinated me and filled me with tears.

Tears, lest too little time was left to me

Not enough for another slow dance,

But in that Indian summer I could still see

Both a deeper and longer romance.

So now I look not on petals all shrunken,

I just picture my new found adored.

And I’ve given up days with my drunken

Friends, whose jokes I no longer applaud.

Anton Wills-Eve