Afternoon in 1997

An age of innocence
started with eager eyes,
unperturbed by the mountainous swells of Summer.

All by themselves,
they feasted their eyes
on a banquet of peonies
in the garden
that knew this time
of the year
all too well
while the sunlight's immortal warmth gave them afternoons,
supreme rest
heaving with soulfulness
on bedcovers.

They must not let go
of yesteryears.
They must not look
at the swelling feet
of Today and Tomorrow.

Even if they don't catch a single wink of sleep
the way they once did
back then
or look at peonies
or a primrose
with the same
affinity for touch
and the same
kind vision,
they know:

Those afternoons are a lifetime's song.
They take them
with the
events
of their lives
everyday.