Sonnenizio on a Line from Yeats
An aged man is but a paltry thing.
An aged woman, on the other hand,
Has no time to be paltry like her man.
She’s coaxing fire to make the kettle sing.
She fries the sausages and sets the forks.
He sighs his own obituary, then dozes,
Dreaming of imperishable roses.
Real roses must be pruned. She gets to work.
The old man has his legacy to tend;
He mourns his fading powers with aching heart.
Her hands ache with arthritis, but she’s smart
And takes an aspirin; she has socks to mend.
Byzantine sage, enough of fiery gold!
The real trick’s being too busy to get old.
from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, November 27, 2015 — by Catherine Rogers
Photograph by Christine Klocek-Lim
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