Is it too late to slow the pace?
Is it too late to change the mirror?
Is it too late to dust out the cobwebs
From corners behind the blaring tube?
Is it too late to turn the page?
Have the spring terns flown away?
Or should I venture out in the woods
And search amidst the dewy haze
For trivial delights now unknown?
The missing picture in the album,
The careless leap below the laughing sun,
The cherubic charms dropped behind
In the maze of trees while on the run.
Is it too late to reverse the change?
Is it too late to learn
Lessons they didn’t teach at school?
That youthful trees would later freeze
Their libido stolen by recurring summers
To be replaced by sceptic stares
Wearing a different green
Yet a shade of yester’s hue.
Another mark of transience.