The hands are aged now
yet fingers ply deliberate
as the body trembles
Painting happy tapestries
or plunge into darkness
for eyes that are open
but not to see
Only to show
they are watching
Sating fragile conscience
Tenor melodies, bright yet melancholy
record the life that held the same
At even tide
dwindling sun glimmers
Dance across the waters
Evening mists arise
Sorrowful strains from yon banks
ride the fog into the night
Now he sleeps
Echoes remain