Sing On Poet

Now in my 64th year

The blossoms of poets drop on me,

As in the shaping of a tear

Or rain from leaf-hung canopy.

Their chant upon my hearing falls,

Never have I heard such song,

Such music as my spirit calls,

To what height do they belong?

I feel their rhythms, hear their cries

Of beauty born from death's grey tide,

The voice of Truth mid all our lies,

Though darkness reign and light denied.

Sing on poet 'til night is done,

Morning in our lives renew,

The wedding of the bride begun,

Earth anointed honours you.