I started this poem Sunday, before snow fell upon the daffodils of today’s haiku. But even a foolish hope is better than none. I have this notion that wisdom is more for the brain, whereas the heart is given to folly. And that’s a good thing.
Young and Old
My father, when dying of cancer at 67,
(younger than I am now), confided to me:
“I’ve never felt older than 19 in my heart.”
It explains how I too never feel quite
grown up. And my uncles the same: men
in the chassis, boys beneath the hood.
My heart felt older when I was younger,
laden with worry and drink. but many
sober years has returned to it some youth.
It’s good, I think, for the heart to be
a little stupid. A soft breeze blows; daffodils
bloom. I cherish a foolish hope winter is over.
I may never make it back to feeling 19,
but then my teen years were not my best —
except for taking up this life with you.
Were hearts not a little stupid,
how could we have lasted?