Who is this man? I knew him once, I swear,
But though he seems familiar, I can’t place
Him. Did we meet out on the road somewhere,
Drink beer, load hay, play music, ride bikes, chase
Loose cows (or ladies)? Something in his face
Speaks of things as they were long lives ago;
Of half-forgotten dreams and days of grace.
He’s lithe and quick; makes me feel stiff and slow,
Set in my ways. The world is his to go
And conquer still, while duty, age and fear
Have vanquished me. We could be friends, I know,
But time is short: some day, he’ll disappear
And leave the mere remembrance of his light
Until it, too, is taken by the night.
A Spenserian sonnet – my first! – in response to a beautiful example given to us by the wonderful Tom Davis over at fourwindowspress. The rhyme scheme is a challenge, but it feels good to stretch myself again. Thank you for the inspiration, Tom – in this, as in so many other things. N.