Monks BridgeThere is a gentleness in ancient things,

Old earthenware and furniture from days

When life was leisurely and time was long ;

A grace that comes when the world’s happenings

Are etched in memory’s frame, when mossy ways

Lead to new excitements, when the song

Is older far than he who blithely sings.

The dust that men in frantic striving raise

Settles to hide the wounds, cover the wrong.

Peace comes when tired ambition folds its wings.

And I, remembering the yeast of youth,

The raw and cruel deeds which now I rue,

Have come at last to recognise the truth

That only age can sanctify the new.


Weekly Times     20.7.62