Peter S. Quinn

That’s the way it is
Again it's done over
Making words into whiz
Roots of a little clover
Leaves with nothing to hold
All has been done before
Spinning the new from old
Into yet another lore

The past floating around
Turning the sweet and soft
Where is the new then found?
When there is nothing aloft
Wearing the old time shoes
Handsome it might have been
Though it's now past its dues
Sprinkling out thoughts thin

In its way fading now
Burning the bridges again
Finding some new somehow
Bringing it in with pain
Love lost in greaves
The flowers of autumn past
Old brownish dim leaves
Nothing forever to last