A girl's portrait seen in the morning,
As fresh to the eyes as sun's rising
Soft orange on paling blue.
Post-colonial youth in her summer dress
And white hat -- red ribbons in her hair,
Caught before flowers.

None of my portraits show such
A gentleman in a boy, as there's a lady
In that girl. I have not lived enough.
To come only some score of miles
In as many years; 'tis scarce milieu enough
To frame so telling a pose of me.

But the cares of the world are in her now
As they are in me. Do I give credit
For the hint of that girl, and cheat
Myself of like advantage?
Warm but weary this early morning,
Have my cares tried me no less?

You and I made a happy day
Of youth in the city. And tho'
We knew ourselves no purer than this city,
With its sad-shameful-rushing life --
Still for a moment, you sat on flowers,
And I was a young gentleman
   With a clumsy bouquet of daisies,
   And my five-year-old's kiss.

February 25, 2005

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