Songs of Youth

4 April 2015

https://poems.culturing.net/2015/04/songs-of-youth/

I remember being young,
Daffodils our trampled shrine.
I know how the songs are sung.

Music prances on the tongue.
Thought is out of mind.

Time itself is young,
And on its breast are hung
Narcissi, taught to ripen
As the songs are sung,

For thus it must begin.

But if the songs are ever sung,
And if the blossoms hung
Are never hardened

We are young forever.
We are ever young.