Youth kneels to death
not daring to shake off the binding gyves
and stand free.
(Why search for an oasis in the desert
with only the spectral Joshua-arms outreaching?)
It is a tragic thing
to see youth, dreamless,
walk with the step of an old man
while April violins are calling
and stars are singing in their courses.
It is a tragedy
when autumn lies dead upon the lap of spring.
