No ugliness has begun,
No ugliness was born so bright,
Old age just scrimped and pinched and saved,
And sits on hoard, hissing with spit.
Burly men will be remembered,
With their toolbelts spit-shined anew,
Sour cuts, bloody and sweet
Drip red on the new-swept floor.
Go sir, curmudgeon! Old age, creep!–
And the air stops around, begging,
With feet unused, and blindly groped,
and halcyon nights will heal the sores.
Go sir, curmudgeon! Old age, step forth!–
As shiny tools on toolbelt sparkle,
And underneath, still, spring winds,
It cease’t, it stops, and comprehends all.
Original used: All Lovely Things by Conrad Aiken
Didn’t have a chance to post in time.