retirement poem

with the meek, brown eyes
in september
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
there is no escape by the river
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
there is an hour of peaceful rest
in your flight
if i were very sure
when a deed is done for freedom
i walk down the garden paths
she was a beauty in the days
i can not tell you now
with her hair flaying wildly