Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Mariaki's request
This is one written several years ago, when my youngest was about to graduate from high school. Mortality was on my mind, and the seasons of life, as his passage from childhood also seemed to mark my own passage into elderhood. THE MAGIC HOUR a sonnet of art and age Stare not at the Sun, we’re oft reminded, But in the Magic Hour, as the Poets tell Eyes can gaze and be not blinded-- The day’s work’s done, for good or ill. The Farmer comes home from the field, The Baker from the baking; The...
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