Sixty-seven is a man
of dreams,
Invested purely in what ought to be,
X-ing out the barriers to will
That make it hard to see what one would see.
Yet years need not accomplish much, it
seems.
So does his passion sing
like dammed-up streams
Enveloping the islands that agree,
Vast armies of the afternoon, who still
Expect their words to keep their honor free,
Needing to sustain what hope redeems.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.