If The Current Is Right, One Can

The Ravaged Face In The Mirror Hides The Enchanting Youth That Is The Real Me.

In Middle Age, I Practiced Feeling Old, But The Real Thing Has Been A Rude Surprise.

In The Great Cities, Winter Glitters With Art And Feasting. But Poetry, The Country Cousin, Sees Only The Dearth Of The Fields.

The Neuroses Parody The Virtues.

The Hero Used To Be The One In White. Now He Is Harder To Spot.