“ Pushing Morrows ” ~ he might’ve tasted ~

In child’s hurry

For tomorrow,

He’s made blind

To the measure

He might’ve tasted

Of day’s treasure…


All those morrows

Now at sea,                   

A long thin boy

That once was me,

Alas will never see!


“ Days We’d Tasted ” ~ be without end ~

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!