April is National Poetry Month

Youth

Theresa Helburn

You hear Youth laughing down young budding aisles;
You glimpse her dancing limbs her hair of gold,
The carefree sweet defiance of her smile,
For you are old.

But I can see eyes gray with vague alarm,
Misty with longings that can find no tongue,
The hooded future clutching at her arm,
For I am young.

p.s.

If the call comes, who answers?

If the answer comes, who calls?