|Sixty-five sits easy on the throne,|
Intending to relinquish soon his power.
Xylophones rejuvenate the hour,
Tinkling of a time less far from home,
Years when the gift of life was in full flower.
For now, there is the daydream of a bower
In which one lives for harmony alone.
Vistas of an old, abandoned tower
Etch against the sky the days of stone.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.