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Foreplay

Seventy seasons sliced by harvest scythe,
sent spent from feast’s fields to untimely grave,
while g[r]azing Time derides begged ebb-tide crave
denies recycled dream, Life’s token tithe.
Who dwells on Death when young and carefree, blithe? -
child heedless plays till taught how to behave.
Adult, aware of all he’d pay to save
from dark forgetfulness, as worm will writhe
an hour, though blind, before brain’s dropped by hive,
good-bye encounters, countdown’s final wave
submerging shawl with pall. Fresh faces pave
new roads, loads, sequent stage for limping, lithe.

Dead end lies destiny both mouse and man
enjoy - span evanescent also-ran.


© Jonathan Robin robi3_0540 written 28 September 1996 revised 23 November 2006 revised as sonnet 3 December 2008 - see below for previous versions initial title Childsplay
Foreplay

Seventy seasons sliced by harvest scythe,
s[p]ent from fields of feasting for[e] Time, grave,
g[r]azes with equanimity, the [g]rave
seems dream recycling tinsel token tithe.
Who dwells on Death when young and carefree, blithe?
Child heedless plays till taught how to behave.
Adult, aware of all he’d give to save
from dark forgetfulness, as worm will writhe
an hour, though blind, before life's final wave
with pall's enshrouded, for fresh paths must pave
subsequent stage for limping, hale, pale, lithe.
Dead end is destiny both mouse and man
enjoy - span evanescent also-ran.

© Jonathan Robin robi3_0540 written 28 September 1996 revised 23 November 2006 modified 17 April 2008 for previous version see below

Childsplay

Seventy years cut from the waiting scythe,
gleaned from fields eternal where Time, grave,
g(r) azes with equanimity, the (g) rave
is but recycling of Life’s token tithe.
Who dwells on Death when young and carefree, blithe? -
the child plays till he’s taught how to behave.
Adult, aware of all he fain would save
from dark forgetfulness, as worm will writhe
an hour, though blind, before the final wave.

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