(To Mr. and Mrs. Glen Cushing)
I never knew the mellowed years could hold
A sweeter rapture than the hours of youth;
That every shadow would be fringed with gold
And meditative leisure crowned with truth.
I always knew that ripened fruit must fall
And amber grain be gathered in the sheaf,
But never dreamed the harvest best of all;
That gentle, quiet days could be too brief.
For beauty lingers on the twilight trail;
Companions journey, hand in hand, their eyes
Seeing the Light ahead that does not fail,
Illume the opening gates to Paradise.
I never knew the mellowed years could be
The perfect prelude to Eternity.
