Biding the Tide,
What didn’t we say? again.
Will you hear me less...
when I am old and grayed?
Till now we’ve secretly despised
the fragile middle wave of Time
and mouthed every sensitive
impression as unspoken blemish.
Years take hold in storied misty vapor
and if age has its dole Tomorrow,
the soul need not be silent...
even as the corpse goes cold.