After Horace
It wasn't till I got old and cranky
my shields scuffed by faster men
and shadows played with my eyes
that I remembered being told
slow down, find the peace in you.
That was after the last one. Comrades
could think of nothing more helpful
than reprove my new infirmity. Pity?
Remember the blood that fell along the way.
Consider how long the winter will last.
When I recovered I went back hard.
The trick, like it always is, even limited
is never to be where you have to be
to endure the unendurable. Say it.
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