Twilight Years
In the quiet hours I listen for you,
In the quiet hours I listen for you,
and let fine mist memories caress your face.
Easy is that wind to those that welcome its flirty touch,
taking me to places that have yet to be named.
In shreds of pain, the counted years
once raged against the face of thwarted plans.
Now growing wisdom lessens life’s stings,
as even those regrets that festered, unexposed,
are just fading whispers of the past.
I watch the round sky where sun and moon rise,
and rest beneath gold light of both their beams,
to breathe in sweet scents of tuberose.
Still, embers burn within my grieving soul
of the woman whose presence I sadly miss