Poem: The Impatience of Old Men

The impatience of old men
springs not from too many days
rather from too few

Too few days remain
to watch today’s plantings bear
proud fruit on high limbs

So they cry “Ripen!”
to the seeds of former years
heady hopes of youth

“Rise! Flower! Ripen!
I would eat before I die,
let the sweet juices

run into my beard
I have laboured long enough
Time now to savour.”

But old ways die hard
Wizened hands sow once again
blessings for the future