There was a boy
Said ever glad,
For animate joy
Save he felt sad,
Its adolesce span
Exacts but a fad,
Be that so it may
Fix boy to be man,
He’d bid afar day
From stripling state,
That inevitable way
To descry adulthood,
Toward destined fate
Binds resolute say,
Held misnomer depth
Of ending youth’s stay,
He’d pursue cheat its death!
I nigh recall
When but a tot,
Days mostly all
Be without end,
Thus no part plot
Then to be fed,
But chosen dishes
Hence composed
Held daily doze
Of youthful wishes…
Yet growing up
Had not foretold,
Days made face
Life want remould,
As child burns
To aging bold,
That soon exacts
Its weighty toll,
For growing old
Bids less recall,
Of days we’d tasted all!
Growing up later
Beats doing so sooner,
As older comes fast
When living in haste,
As venturesome past
May well deny taste,
On growing up late …
Growing up sooner
Exacts little light
And thus I defer
To aging foresight…
Thence if but a day
For journey’s delay,
I’ll suffer the loss,
At whatever cost
For all I can skewer,
Of growing up later!
Poetry on a canapé 