Song at 90, Again, Words, The Boy, Until

Poems by Herbert Thorne, a member of Get Your Wordsworth.


ME – me – a speck in the world of man
Yes, I still can wave
My hand with my talents
But my hand can no longer grasp
The rest (the wrest) of the world
In my nonogenarian fading, dimming, waning.

Not tomorrow, but the day after tomorrow
I shall forget my memories.

I hear – but do not learn
I read – but do not see
I eat but do not savor

Dumb doom will be
Shortened only by
Departure of breath

New memory does not come inside.
Oh, I shall try, but
Will is low
(I am not a striver)

No, I do not
Care; I am not saddened
My soul is lazy
My mind is phased
My life is glazed

The ending – (whenever)
A piece of peace.

Ta ta.


Meeting again
Again hearts talk

Minds warm again

Thank God for


I am a man of few….



Once, long ago, there was a boy of four
Or more – or less
Who was put away
Across land and a river, for life
A life without mother or father
In a separate, away-boarding school
the youngest there by far


One passing year passed
To the day
When mother came
To take the small boy to home – back
With a new, different

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One thought on “Song at 90, Again, Words, The Boy, Until

  1. Bravo Herb. A venerable 90, still walking, still talking, still playing with word imagery and sounds, talking to strangers, complimenting babies and lovely women, friends with the whole world.

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