Youth Dressed In Gray Poem by James McLain

I dance with youth but grow older.
Pretty pie,
candy cakes, plumbs and thumbs.
Index finger being lost as a child.
Twin pillows are drawn in the sand.
There is where the clearing is.
The forest is clear to the edge.
Down to the edge of youth is the sea.
Water and wind and pink softer cheeks.
The moon over head rests on a limb.
Leaves once wide now are narrow.
Standing in youth weeping prolonged.
My eye on green moss hanging down.
Bent are the twigs, ghosts of silence.
Or songs of sleep, bubbles float open lips.
Youth dressed in gray.
Old again, dreams never more less important.