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Here in the month of winter's end
wind mourns in the eaves late in the night
bearing a cold that might portend
an ice storm's arrival at first light.

Fine sleet shushes on the glass
of windows and the rear deck door.
Like all in life, this too will pass
as storms have always done before.

And here I sit within lamp's glow
naught save thoughts for company
reviewing snippets of life's show
as years of time pile up on me.

I know that I'm in my third act,
my mirror says so every morning.
The end's time will be inexact,
and likely will give little warning.

But not every thought is gray,
there have been joys to off-set tears
and love that's lasted to this day
as my time exceeds three score years.

Of beauty I have seen my share,
both of nature and man made
and I've lived to see it everywhere
from urban centers to sylvan glade.

The sands of the east and western seas,
lower Mississippi's mud in spring,
Carolina's clay in autumn's breeze,
all have felt my footfall's sting.

My eyes and mind begin to tire.
Toward one A.M. the clock's hands creep
as age and hour both conspire
in bidding that I go to sleep.

So I arise on knees that grind,
almost trip upon my grandson's toy,
then lie beside the soul most kind,
who has brought most of life's joy.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Last few words: 
I had thought of ending this with the third stanza. Should I have?
Editing stage: 


I know this is a rough draft, yet it captured all your moods and thoughts. I could almost see you reclining in an easy chair, with your mind reminiscing the past and your sensitive mind strolling all the miles with grace and gratitude. I would therefore visit again to see the refined version of this lovely poem. A pleasure almost always...

raj (sublime_ocean)

I'm self absorbed enough that each year I try to write a reflective poem as my birthday approaches. "One More Field Crossed" and "The Long Stone Wall" have come from this compulsion. Hopefully I'll get the kinks out of this one so that it will eventually equal those two. I appreciate your visit and kind comment..............stan

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