Senescence Poem by Sheena Blackhall

My children float away in the flood of youth
My life is winding down.
The house of life slowly subsides
Amidst cracks and weeds

The rain beats wearily drearily
Over the fog-backed river.
The maggot knocks in the night

Dog eared moments
Always come back to Highland burns
Hosannahing down the Bens of distant childhood
Lately the badger woods shrivel away like leaves

Late in the ghost season,
Those who were flesh come oftener in my dreams

Wedded I was a poor crop
A meagre harvest under sodden skies
Talking to stones and moonshine

I am the parent of my discontent
The sermons of infancy roar in my ears

But I can say, and this most truthfully
I have loved the fox and the shy quick darting bird
And wish them many blessings
In the name of the wren,
the sun,
and the salmon under the rock