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Posts Tagged ‘perfect’

2dRWHPQ


We sometimes now gather, all wrinkled and gray,
And talk of the past that has faded away.
The past that was better, the good days, the old –
And fonder we cherish as farther behold.

There’s nothing that’s better in your mind and mine
Than days in the past when all facets were fine –
When nights were like diamonds and days were like gold,
When we were but youths and unknowing and bold.

We speak of them often; our words glow; we sigh –
Those birds have flown off without saying goodbye.
Migration is not why they’ve flown far away,
For birds gone in winter come back in a day.

The old days have flown to the past, not the south
Existing now only in our mind and mouth.
In first, they’re a treasure; in second, a treat
To all who were with us ere Time seemed so fleet.

Those wheat fields were golden; we glean just the best,
Gloss over the trouble, forgetting the rest.
What matters are mem’ries, the good that survives,
And happy are we with our loves and our lives.

That world now seems perfect without the decay
(No matter the decade, it’s always that way).
In gardens of ignorance, bliss is beget
And now, if we know it, we tend to forget.

So, good friends, my old friends, come by and we’ll sit
In rockers, both smiling, and visit a bit.
And there we will travel and go back in time
To good days, the old days, when life was sublime.

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Photo by  Billy Frank Alexander at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/2dRWHPQ/Grunge+Texture

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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         A Day Of Sunshine

O gift of God!  O perfect day:
Whereon shall no man work, but play;
Whereon it is enough for me,
Not to be doing, but to be! 

Through every fibre of my brain,
Through every nerve, through every vein,
I feel the electric thrill, the touch
Of life, that seems almost too much. 

I hear the wind among the trees
Playing celestial symphonies;
I see the branches downward bent,
Like keys of some great instrument. 

And over me unrolls on high
The splendid scenery of the sky,
Where through a sapphire sea the sun
Sails like a golden galleon. 

Towards yonder cloud-land in the West,
Towards yonder Islands of the Blest,
Whose steep sierra far uplifts
Its craggy summits white with drifts. 

Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms
The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms!
Blow, winds! and bend within my reach
The fiery blossoms of the peach! 

O Life and Love! O happy throng
Of thoughts, whose only speech is song!
O heart of man! canst thou not be
Blithe as the air is, and as free?

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The thought of the first stanza reminded me
of the conclusion of my poem “It Is Enough”:
https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/10/13/it-is-enough-by-dennis-lange/

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