Chained By Hope

On this day upon the frozen hill of my ancient secret dreams,

Comes sweet the soft serenade of children laughing, and children playing

  upon the distant other side of stoic life’s moving stream.

Ah now, but to grow gracefully old is to in silent joy remember.

And it is only through, and by His will that I overcome this chill of December.

For naked am I, as the solitary leaf which writhes whimsical on a northern wind.

Stark and set alone against a waning sky as early darkness soon sets in.

Memories like branches sway like lapses of another day and time.

And the children which once played in secret dreams have now grown old and died.

So yet it is that I cling fettered to a newborn hope.

Chained now am I by last chances in the love of Alexandria Rose.

J. Allen Wilson © TWELVE 2006

 my website