The Cross of Age

The cross of age weighs me down,

Lids straining to close for sleep. 

It’s too late to hope for a silver ray

When years have greyed into days. 

Why count them in the spectre of the dark? 

Why look for good tidings in the arc? 

Even a jaded rainbow loses its spark!

It leaves no flutter in your veins.

Yet somewhere does a bell clang...

Try, persevere is its perennial ring.

Never give up till the last day’s ping.

Does the ring have its pep?

I pull up my chin, straining to look up.