Fifty-five has learned to dream more wisely,
Inventing only what might come to pass.
For her the gifts of life are more than plenty,
Though at times she hears the distant brass
Yearning for what now has no reflection.
Fear not, for the moment is perfection,
In which one finds a mirror for one's fancy
Vast as time, inclusive as creation,
Eternity redacted to a glass.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon