(To Mr. and Mrs. Glen Cushing)
I never knew the mellowed years could hold
A sweeter rapture than the hours of youth;
That every shadow would be fringed with gold
And meditative leisure crowned with truth.
I always knew that ripened fruit must fall
And amber grain be gathered in the sheaf,
But never dreamed the harvest best of all;
That gentle, quiet days could be too brief.
For beauty lingers on the twilight trail
Companions journey, hand in hand, their eyes
Seeing the Light ahead, that does not fail,
Illume the opening gates to Paradise.
I never knew the mellowed years could be
The perfect prelude to Eternity.