At restive clear of wayward path
under the umbrage ochre
a mid-aged man of forty-one
his face fine-lined and graying hair
had paused to lean against a stone
adjacent writhen trees
whose trunks had joined as pair
to let for passage ‘tween them

His bespeckeled eyes had seen then
beyond the passage split
lush in bright spring green lit
himself, a youth of stark eighteen
golden visage smooth clean
ripe with a jolly for frolic and glee
rife with folly for life yet to be
when not a thing meant any thing

“Wait,” appealed a pensive voice
and broke the moment hollow.

To the man the sheepish boy had spoke.

He waved his slender hand to follow
“Stay here, and let us never grow old.”

At this plea to hold time’s passage
on his feet the man had leapt
lost in obverse thoughts
of the youthful days he’d kept
ripe with a jolly for frolic and glee
rife with folly for what life was to be
when not a thing had ever meant any thing at all
Until he faintly sighed

“One day you will know why,”
with smile awry that matched
his solemn heartful good-bye
His irremeable youth had slipped from sight
behind him now but forever wound
like the twisted passage trees
He continued afoot on his journey bound
never to be young again.

Author’s note: I made a few corrections to this since the original post– one typo correction and a few word changes to allow for better flow and rhythm that I discovered after rereading.  I consider all my pieces, photos and poems, to be works in progress, much like myself.  ~Jason