Wrinkled furrows,
Deep trenches
Like ploughed soil,
Hollow, brown, and greying ,
Shadowing, a curved forehead,
Neath shades of mousy tresses.
Now fading
Marrying grey-white streaks,
O’er eyes still twinkling,
Their shade, a darkened hue,
Nestling in a canopy
Of ageing wrinkles.

Age, blunderer,
Of youth’s fresh love.
Climax of life’s drama.
Obstacle to
Fleety, luscious, gaiety.
Cast aside, forgotten,
Yet, restful, dignified.
A sense of peace and calm.
The throbbing yearns of youth.
A beating pulse
Is slower growing.

Happy the mind,
Watching youth’s innocence,
Too young, they are
To hold age’s silent knowledge,
Grasped from time and experience.
Youth, too frail to know or listen,
Until age catches and says;
“Thou fool of fools,
Stand, stare and feel,
Listen, fall you must
Like withered leaves
In an Autumn mist.

Youth and age,
Both beautiful.
Wildness tamed,
Ignorance mastered,
A floating dream
Too elusive to understand
The roving drama
In the life of man.

Copyright Máiréad Tuohy Duffy (C)2004