To those of us who are tired of the bogosity of "threescore years and ten" and who may have just seen their seventieth spring, I offer this response by Emily Grosholz to Housman:Loveliest of trees, the cherry nowIs hung with bloom along the bough,And stands about the woodland rideWearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,Twenty will not come again,And take from seventy springs a score,It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloomFifty springs are little room,About the woodlands I will goTo see the cherry hung with snow.--A.E. Housman
Putting On the Ritz(For William Jules-Yves)
After a long, cool winter,at last in May a suiteof warm days wakes the sleepers
One covered from crown to rootin thick crepe skirtlets stopsme, back from hibernation:
Loveliest of trees,big as the Ritz's balleticvases charged with bloom.
Not bought, not concocted,only improbably real.Why am I not surprised?
My hair is snowed with silver,evidence how little roomfifty springs allow.
And yet midwinter someoneburst to life inside me,and lately started dancing.
Just so improbablysnow hung along the brancheschanged suddenly to flowers.--Emily Grosholz