Was stark-etched by the autumn sun
And stepped before him, morning-browned,
With old man movements, lamely done;
With shock he saw that shadow’s lines
Crosshatch a body much reduced.
Slope-shouldered,
thin and dragging-stepped,
Lacking
the bulk which once it had,Bent-legged and stiff the shadow crept
The tarmac with a crablike pad;
Heartstruck, he scanned those bitter signs
Of big-stride swagger now traduced.
What
purpose then had life and love,
That
courtship like a sweet-toned flute,The skelter games of tease and shove,
And mid-life prize of flesh-thick fruit;
(Life-lazing, gorged, in shade of vines,
He dozed in heat like one seduced)?
But
now the swift cloud, blue-glazed sky,
The
green-piled sea and field-rich land,Had spewed him forth; his shadow’s cry
Was look to self, time’s leaking sand,
And fling off living, seek out shrines
Where truth is found, by death induced.
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©
August 2015