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.