Ending Of An Age Poem by Jet Burns

In bleak and woe-befallen sickness strange
you wake at morn to find new winds that blow
along grey shafted beams that swift do change
your feeling hung, deprived: for cows do low
in fields and hills whereon the grass is keen
and weeds do cling to spice of cheer old life;
the cream, the bluest sky and things unseen
like water spilling streams. And yet no strife
enters the thought of pale remembrance; Joy,
just Joy that comes in sheer, o'er-whelmed surprise!
In tears that burst like fruits o'er-ripe, to cloy
the sense of grief with satiate sun-rise!
Thus ends one Age in human history-
not in great books but deep: Personally.