Jeffrey Hull

Lion in Winter

A boyish love's a campfire
   Of twigs and tinder moss;
Tempestuous desire,
   And blind to certain loss.
By burning bright, if briefly,
   Love hints of what can be;
And that's its function chiefly —
   If only youth could see!

A full grown love's the boiler
   That powers life on earth.
To love's end man's a toiler,
   And service marks his worth:
Man harnesses his passion
   To pull the plows of life,
A better world to fashion
   For daughter, son and wife.

An old man's love's the fire
   That's banked against the night,
The memory of desire
   In fading winter light.
His cherished recollections,
   The fruit of love's sweet vine,
Are purged of imperfections
   And savored like fine wine.

Now, all love has its season
   And plays its role in each;
Experience, not reason,
   Must love's great lessons teach.
Now I approach my winter,
   For me, the seasons turn;
A walker, not a sprinter —
   But my fires still do burn.


© 2005 Jeffrey Hull

Yes. Thank you. That says it all -- nothing more to add.

Thanks for the comment, Richard. Trying out different "voices."