All These Things

When I consider all these things
The passing time of which the poet sings
The fading glory of the blossom trees
The acquired wisdom of arthritic knees

There's a grey end to the summer's call
Mist rise smoke fall
When the full sky lifts the sea wall
Heads rise branch tall

And now comes again the old refrain
But don't live it again
Just put it away
Beside the grandeur of your fathers walls
The present tense has no chance at all

The sharp decline from the empire's reign
Of the terraced house down the little lane
They measured their distance on an albatross' wing
Till the tide returned
To just pack it all in

It's a cold distance from the Champs-Élysées
To the brown Thames or the silvery Tay
And further now since the steaming pines
Hungry for loam to the lake fall home

It is you I love
More than all these things
In old shoe boxes closed with knotted strings



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