Patrick William Kavanagh (26/02/1957 / Dublin)
The Ace Of Cups
The sun is setting slowly, I understand its dignified resistance to the night.
Softly it descends behind the wintry trees and gently impregnates the pond with golden light.
Just like the ace of cups, an ancient symbol for the dawn of life,
When God made love, and gave his essence to his child, the universe.
Wrapped up warm and sitting here just gazing at this scene,
I wander back through time, and all that I have been,
The images fly by in haste, my life was long, there have been quite a few,
But still the ones which stand out stark and strong are images of you.
The golden light reminds me of your hair, like ripened corn or candles in a quiet church,
I close my eyes and I can see you standing there, and I can almost feel your gentle touch.
I smell your scent, it's carried on the winters breeze, you're not so very far away,
Sometimes I can't believe that your still here, my angel and my comfort in these fading days.
I don't feel very sad, this life of mine was precious and I've had my fill of tears and joy,
And I have had my share of undeserved love, much more than I imagined as a boy.
Those childish dreams of fame and wanton lust, have all returned to ignorance and dust,
I've had much greater treasures in my life, my families, my homes, my wife,
And I will sleep in peace.
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