Let me see it for myself, when the air is <br />Not obscured, and there’s no denial of <br />Mortal sight between the harvest moon <br />And here <br />I own this state of clouded view, the <br />Neglect of objectivity, my design - <br />Inadvertent, creeping like the sheltered moss <br />Of an ancient English moor <br />So, <br />No infractions to the wind <br />For haze that drifts across the plain - <br />No smears of reputation, <br />Nothing to defend - <br />But pain <br />Show me paths of gilded grandeur, <br />Through snow-capped peaks of time, <br />In grace and splendor - <br />Grant me space to make my peace, <br />With the innocence of a child’s eye, <br />And the wisdom of old men - <br />These middle times of mine<br /><br />Kelly Vinal<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/middle-clarity/
