He sits somewhere reading something, relaxed;
I say his name once, twice, a little louder..
He looks up, nearly startled, then breaks into that smile,
His eyes crinkling up with the long habit of perpetual kindness.
He quotes a verse from a poem, dead-pan,
I quote the next line, and so we go on-
Ambling down far promontories of time,
Two nimble children in search of a rhyme.
And he becomes Shakespeare and Byron and Shelley,
I become Dickinson, Teasdale and Lowell,
We go up the highest, sail down on thin air,
Not one bit worried if there's nothing below.
'Ah, parting's such sweet sorrow, ' I say, with half a turn.
'Pray, then, do not go gentle, for old age should burn'-
' And if thou wilt, remember, and if thou wilt, forget'
And happily, we tarried- for time had not won, yet.
Your friend....fits like a friend should be..When a poetry is a language and two of you are speakers, together you can step high when the lines you talk are in upstairs and down together when both you find it on the ground...friend fits each other...like lock and keys, there mus be somewhere complement each other..what a beautiful write Patti :) _Unwritten Soul
What a magnificently wonderful idea you have in this.... What great fun that would absolutely be... You paint it so vivid and real... It could be done. Great poem and idea to put into action. Jim Troy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Time has nothing to win with poetry.But still we use time to carry or poetry with it as the people you explored did.They now became history and quest and with time`s conquest.But with time its sure man`s quest and zest has not stopped.Byron i know was a geat admirer of Tycho Brahe,16th century man and a Nobel laureate for his great philosophies from the University of Rostock, former DDR where once Einstein studied following the aftermath of Lord Byron.Now are many misnomers with time from time like me.Great poetry of yours.