The first ones
took hold of me
like a huge bear hug
from the librarian
and I devoured, I inhaled them
like autumn mist
Learning things no one
seemed to notice
during daylight rambles
or parkbench dreamings
One day I discovered
how to make my own
and became hopelessly addicted
But then utility bills
and workplace enthrallment
endless internet links and
things that couldn't wait
Of all the poems, though,
half dozing on the sun porch
I like to sift through my own
as though still hiking
across the shimmering plateau
lounging on this or that warm boulder
absorbing endorphins
stealing each new line
that fell round me
'After childhood' I penned,
'there be only tattered sequels-
After youth,
even gold gets rusty.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem