Old Clouds

With lethargic vim, the clouds roll overhead

As I hope they do when I’m 94

Resting upon the zephyr-bed

Rest only peripateticism could afford

For who could not look out over the earth

To see the modes of human form

With lusts for life and love and worth

And not learn what is worth the storm

 

Photo by Anthony Aird on Unsplash

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