Your fourteen lines are mine. They are my gold
mine in the sunshine, coal mine in the snow;
they are my ocean's tugging ebb and flow;
they are my downpour in the heat and cold.
I read them now, young; when I have grown old,
with my eyes poor, but having more to show,
I shall revisit them and find them, though
unchanged in word, so different to behold.
Perhaps the mines and oceans will have dried
and heaven's tears will have been spent by then--
if there is one thing left unchanged by tide
and clime, it is the memory of men.
I was a child when I first read, and cried;
old and again so frail, I'll weep again.
Author notes
This is a tribute to Edna St. Vincent Millay's sonnet "Time Does Not Bring Relief".
What did you think? Anything I can improve on?
Comments
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A very evocative write I've not read the poem you refer to but perhaps I will. Again happy trails.
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Thank you!
http://www.bartleby.com/131/19.html
I'd suggest you read all of Edna St. Vincent Millay's poems. I love them to bits.
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