That Afternoon in Golden Gate Park
That afternoon in Golden Gate Park
On a golden San Francisco day
We walked hand in hand
In the Japanese Tea Garden
Before sipping tea
From delicate cups.
Than we sat on a bench
By the DeYoung Museum
And made up stories
About people passing by.
Later we lay on the grass
And embraced each other.
Well have more days like this,
Wont we? you asked.
Just then the San Francisco fog
Fell on us from the trees.
Chilled, we folded our blanket
And hastily left.
I never did answer your question
Because I knew that what we had
Was as delicate as those teacups
And as breakable.
The Small Pleasures of Being Old
At my age I like the rain.
In my enforced idleness
I sit in my chair,
Sip my coffee, turn a few pages
Gaze out the window.
The unraked leaves,
Not accusing now, wink damply at me,
The unpruned shrubs
Sway like dancers in the wind.
My eyes close and I drift into a light sleep.
The landing of a solid weight in my lap
Startles me awake.
Reflexively I stroke my cat,
Who burrows in, purrs contentedly.
I stroke and doze, equally content.