These sixty years and more I’ve gone about
And gone about, sweating in the world’s show,
Leeching cash and status like a glib tout,
Grossly fawning then swapping blow for blow.
But now, body and soul-sore in my fall,The many splendours of the sun’s bold creatures
And the white moon’s sky-wide violet pall
Torment me in sessions as my impeachers.
For the high solstice shuns all grubbing tasksAnd lifelong misdirection’s no defence;
The pranking cranesbill flaps its glossy masks
And the cuckoo’s trickled song drenches sense:
Too late, indentures in this great assay I’ve had to prove,For now my summer’s lease is done and I must soon remove.
====================© July 2013