I find I’m at that age
when tears well up on seeing beauty
in a woman, or a child at play;
in each sunset; in nights replete with stars,
fireflies and crickets;
in the phases of the moon;
in each ‘rosy-fingered dawn’;
in a robin stock-still on the lawn;
in bees jostling flowers,
in butterflies striving against the wind,
in memories of a love only I can now recall.
Too soon such tears will cease and others fall.
* * *
© Gregory V Driscoll 2015