Well it is, fine to see, elegant and peeled <br />To fineness, a shell, this beauty. A sea-swell <br />Rises, spasm, in my spirit. Nothing can shield <br />Against this shining. Well it is, fine to see - <br />But across years. Something there is of despair <br />Nothing of hope. A wound never to be healed <br />Oozes quietly over the table. Beware <br />The jewel that mocks age. Yet- an affinity <br />Is squeezed out of the night, out of the air <br />Despite the knelling of time’s bell, over the debris <br />Of too much life gone winging. So I can yield <br />To the blindness of breasts, the smell and spell <br />Of hair undone and singing, even be healed <br />By eyes that tell that though my soul lies all revealed, <br />There is nothing to repel, that all is well <br />Fine to see, no need as yet for the long farewell.<br /><br />Richard Blanch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/age-contemplates-youth/
