Classic Poem

Aged self, disposed to lose his hold on life,
Looks down, at winter's ending, and perceives
Continuance in some crinkled primrose leaves
A noise of nesting rooks in tangled trees.
Stillness — inbreathed, expectant. Shadows that bring
Cloud-castled thoughts from downland distances.
Eyes, ears are old. But not the sense of spring.

Look, listen, live , some inward watcher warns.
Absorb this moment's meaning: and be wise
With hearts whom the first primrose purifies.