To break the silence is no easy task
When rhyme has left me for so long a while.
The wine is old, and dust has sealed the cask;
And what seemed novel then seems out of style,
But let us pry it open and partake
Its essence and its vintage, crimson hue.
The passion's cooled, the fire's ardor slaked
By long hours spent in scholarly review
Of analytical and abstract things.
It is a safer, gentler place to be,
A solitude for veterans and kings
In exile from life's stark intensity.
But now I speak, and hear! The rhyme returns,
A child of ashes, yes, but it returns!
George Chadderdon © 1997