Fifty-one is entering
the fall,
In which the colors of her life will brighten.
For her the painted world is but a wall
That shields a void no passion can enlighten.
Yet one can see its mystery in
all.
O season of
remembrance! A bright shawl
Now covers the dark branches that will whiten,
Each now swathed in dreams none will
recall.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.