Walking across the front lawn
Early in this chirping-crisp brisk
Morning – the sun blinking its
Bright light through the trees,
Breezes meandering, spread
Widely enough to stir the leaves,
And grasses and flowers beneath them.
How often did I wake here
Trousers cinched with a broad
Belt, my ancient Ninety-two
Pulling them further down than
They did when we were new?
I might know if I were thinking
Clearly, the way to the top.
There was a time I wouldn’t stop
On such a morning until I stood
Up there, drinking espresso
From my thermos’ cup, but I
Can’t make it beyond here, this
Morning, being too old and feeble
For anything more than this.
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