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All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
Lest you leave your options in
the sunshine
Unprotected from night's bitter shade,
Now you may take them on the lunar wind,
Alive to phantoms vivid as your face
Reveling in front of reason's door.
Nor could your own inventions offer more,
Even those transfigured from your race,
Which, privatized, seem downsized, somehow thinned.
Yet here is all the wealth the past has made,
Each relic dipped in age-old vintage wine,
A treasure-trove of comedy and grace
Resting where your faith must go forth blind. |
