Second Spring

    Silent as a standing pool,
    these thoughts I cannot measure.
    A farewell gleam in evening’s sky
    that lingers, twinkling
    in my fond imagination--
    Oh, remnant of a happy light,
    treasured dream of times long past.
    This, my second spring is
    filled with primrose tufts
    and woven myrtle wreaths,
    strewn over quiet, greener pastures,
    where blue skies arch over
    tiny yarrow vales of hope.
    Here, no weight can sink
    the spirit of perfect innocence
    that beckons me.