For John Donne, poet
John Donne, A Valediction Forbidding Mourning
Such airy valedictions cannot span this bridge in time
What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is very definitely mine..
We both hear the quiet roar of our own new found land;
As time drifts to a stop and as we focus near and far.
No longer amazed at the hollow rancour of public life
We have no more time for the mere indulgences of strife.
We look too much upon these empty places, the sands
That have run out, sans mistress, husband, lover, wife:.
Faces that bloomed at noontide fade like a plangent song
Sung as we leave the stage with ne’er a whisper of regret
To walk into eternity, with all the grace we less deceived
Can muster. Leaves turn golden at this turning of the year.
Now those twin compass points of greed and fear draw near
Then fade into a shadow on a grave, a tear upon her face:
A merry nothing made of jewels and air and filligree grace.