Sunday, October 11, 2009



by G.A. Compton

(my great, great uncle)

When I am old and broken like a reed,
And sunsets spill no more the ruby wine
That bacchanal the birds - too spent to heed
The genesis of spring in sod and vine:
When silver tongues of maple trees are mute
To this, almost, insensate shell of me,
And April breathes upon a broken lute,
And silence fills the old affinity -

Then, as I leaf the page on fading page
Of intermittent memory, I'll live-
Despite this bold and truculent pillage-
As fully, having all that life can give-

And I vow, I swear, it shall be ever new-
My love, the old, old love, I bring to you.


  1. That poem is so beautiful, it brings tears to my eyes. What a thoughtful soul my great uncle Barry was!

  2. I really love that his vow to continue to live fully and to still be "new" is an expression of the "old, old love."