Embers Poem by David McLansky

What do I have to give
But the ashes of my life?
Not I, the fresh cheek upon the hill;
Not I, the wind whipping, standing still;
Not I, the sparkling teeth,
Laughing, bragging on the heath;

What do I have to give
But the wreckage of my life?
Shall I be widower still talking of his wife,
Recalling
The journey and peculiarities
Of she who served on hand and knee?

I am but the embers of the tree;
The glowing ashes that once was me;
Pity me, yes, but youth stay free;
There is a wood extending to the sea.