By Lynne Dorfman
My mentor text for this poem is Swift Things Are Beautiful by Elizabeth Coatsworth. It has been a long-time favorite of mine.
Old is the silver of Grandmother’s hair,
New is the gold of child rosy and fair.
Old is the universe gyrating ‘round,
New are the worlds that are yet to be found.
Old is the dinosaur vanished from Earth,
New is the human who must prove her worth.
Old is the river, the song of the South,
Rolling along from its source to its mouth.
New are the skyscrapers sweeping the skies,
Buzzing with life in their honey-combed hives.
Old is the Bible whose prophecies unfold,
New are the stories that have not yet been told.
Old is the man who must walk with a cane,
Old is the downfall of sweet-smelling rain.
Old is the rose-fingered shimmering dawn,
The tides of the oceans, the days that are gone.
The world of Atlantis obscured by the sea,
Old is the yearning for all to be free.
New is the love for the life that we live,
New is each time that we take or we give.
New are the thoughts envisioned by minds,
Our hopes and our dreams, discoveries, and finds.
From Old, New is born – but before very long,
New will be Old and the cycle goes on.