The Worth of Nostalgia
Fr. Paul Ward
Through an amber haze
dusk beams grapple to hang on.
The day is gone,
is gone.
How good it was.
The autumn leaves gripe and scuffle,
no, to stubborn to let go.
Their life is gone,
is gone.
The good is in their memory.
Grey hairs patiently fathom wise eyes,
two: for tomorrow, for yesterday.
Yes, the Wasteland is over,
is gone.
The future camouflages antiquity’s good.