I age, but I don’t seem to get wiser; I am poised perpetually on the edge of learning something valuable that I could share with you — if I could just get a hold of it.
But I don’t. It hovers out there, past my reach or understanding.
It possibly has something to do with love. Or connecting to something outside yourself. I’m not sure.
Beauty, hope, truth — these are all involved. Something like, “Love is the true hope of beauty” or “Beauty is the love of true hope” or, some other combination of these words.
And sunrise. And stars. And fragrant mornings.
And death, that’s in there, too.
The desert keeps its secrets shy
And hides away its sorrow;
But we’ll find wisdom by-and-by,
Who knows? Perhaps tomorrow.
For love is truth in beauty’s hope
And death is not a fading —
For what is life but starts and ends
And essays we’re creating.
The close is here for all who see,
The far is for the seeking;
And we will be what we will be,
The sun’s first rays are peeking
And out beyond the edge of town
The early breeze is puffing;
And love is all we’ll ever know,
Though it is almost