Thursday, November 10, 2011

In Winter

Frost cakes the roses,
Snow makes lace upon the glass.
The robin couldn't fly.

Wednesday, November 02, 2011


When I look in the mirror
My hair is black
(so who is this
gray haired man).

When I peek in a glass
I am sleek and trim
(so who is this
fat old man).

Youth, they say,
Is wasted on the young
And the young has
Much to waste and spare.

First time a tooth
Fell out during brushing
I wept
From the simple fact
that it insulted
whatever slim integrity
I had left.

Age is wasted
On the old,
Like a withered rose
Covered by frost.