finalized in 2012

A young man about to sing
the song of happiness
stopped by the tawny owl
in his youth’s pine tree.

The thought of being
a misinformed taster
holding a clay bowl, while
a helot from the future,
waits to fill it with something
no one can avoid
best not linger;
an endlessly-asleep-hypothesis
unties the wine-skin.

Is there a bigger enemy of
life and beauty than the fear
of age and decay?

© ifyouplease 2019
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no comments or critique sought.
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