Sixty-three summers
have shone their light,
How many more,
Their fleeting memory will hold,
How many more,
warm summer breezes ,
Will I feel on a sunken cheek,
My little grandson,
A new and unaffected wondrous being,
His summers still before him.
Born at summers end,
Giggling and cooing,
As he meets his second summer,
dancing on the breeze.
Will fortune shine,
that I might see,
some twenty-one summers
more or not.
But for the moment ,
My joy doeth come,
on a summer breeze laughing,
and caressing, my sunken cheeks,
and thorny brow.
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