Elder Woes

If, one day, in a wicker chair I sit,
My eyes tried for sight and my brain for wit,
Let no hindrance still before my senses,
Let ev’ry hammer set upon such fences.
If, that day, the veil for which I’ve waited,
Before my eyes leaves naught I see tainted,
Let me awaken to a world unseen
Let me glimpse all enchanting figurines.
If, that day, the willow’s spindly tendrils
Stretch enough to choke my drowning perils,
Let gusts of gracious wind so softly blow,
Let my chair lift slightly so I will know.
Yet if willows must grow and my chair rock,
Please let sick man Nostalgia never knock.