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Now I'm Sixty Two

by James Walton (follow)
I am fifteen years away
from the age my father reached
standing in the shade
of a forty year old apple tree,
in an early autumn day
with still no sign of rain
and ground that has cracked
like sore lips after oranges,
for decades Iíve resisted
those crossed arms in an ageing pout
but itís only fair to tell you
that Iíve messed it up again.
A stranger to myself
more than a little bewildered
rolling among leaves of words I could never find
when it mattered to others,
that simple declaration out of inhibition
might have proved it all
a theory of consequences
where love is animate of itself,
out of this horrible day in a horrible season
Iím collecting the genuine events
making ready a pelagic seedbed
trying again for a new seasonís merciful rift.

Martin Ryczek - a man feeding swans in the snow - Krakow Poland
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