Still on the sleeve
Ah well, my heart's a little shabby now,
worn, and frayed, more than a bit,
used to dream of always being open,
open and unwalled. Well,
hasn't always worked. Less often
the text book implied, but
habit now. I'm still open,
like the lop eared, floppy bunny
gave me when she was in hospital
someone who remembers the open hearted
the history, would look past
stains and bare bits
the lover I still am.
Youth were did you
go, were did you go?
And Alys replied
Oh! but my youth's still here,
leaps thoughtless to its feet without a care,
turns back to wonder at these creaking limbs
that struggle so behind, and ache
to rise, to float, to jig, to dance
the lovesome roundelay; to shake
white hair out to the screaming mercy
of the sister's drums, or idly
sip and talk the night away.
My youth's still fine, imprison'd
mured, and finds itself surprised
to hear the songs of present joy
now many years a-gley.