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They say eyes clear with age, 
As dew clarifies air 
To sharpen evenings, 
As if time put an edge 
Round the last shape of things 
To show them there; 
The many-levelled trees, 
The long soft tides of grass 
Wrinkling away the gold 
Wind-ridden waves- all these, 
They say, come back to focus 
As we grow old. 

Added: 24 Jun 2002 | Last Read: 23 Nov 2008 12:47 PM | Viewed: 4098 times

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