ascenseur pour l’échafaud

strike no drum for me
nor pray for my immortal soul
for on my own volition
I step on this scaffold
as I have lived as have we all
with that we’ve won or lost
and to us comes the reckoning
so ask not what the cost
if I can say the scales tipped not
towards the darker plate
then as the mortal blade is dropped
I’ll question not my fate.

As Do The Flowers … a sonnet

oh! nature, hast thou changed thy face
for time has played its wicked hand
whereby once youth was fast in place
the aged ocean’s swept over sand
from days long past I thought eternal
my mortal frame will ne’er be saved
this debt for which was presumed vernal
becomes forthcoming by the grave
so to accept the years will sigh
as they tread with practised guile
across my footpath by and by,
and meet them gladly after a while.
For I, like all men, have my hours
as do the birds, the trees and flowers.