National Cathedral School
Favorite Author or Book:
Edgar Allan Poe
Dream for the Future:
Celebration of diversity in every form
My Latin teacher, Ms. Sheeler
The Elder and the Child
The Elder’s voice, a quiet sound,
Of rusted years and somber truth,
Had bade the Child, “Speak to me,
Remember me the days of youth.
“For years have stripped my bones of time.
And withered grey my heart of gold
Obscured my mind and rid my ghost
Of times when I was not so old.”
The Child took the Elder’s hands
And whispered of the twilit sky,
The morning blues, still tinged by night
Where early birds and daydreams fly.
“O, tell me more!” the Elder cried,
“Of endless hopes that pass the dawn
Of morning sighs and sleepy dreams,
Where empty streets and passways yawn.”
The Child spoke of silent dew,
Of light that creeps on padded toes,
Forgiving skies and grateful lights
That paint the world in morning glows.
The Elder bade the Child, “More!
For in this fickle life of earth,
The withered mind of time gone by
Remembers more of death than birth.”
The Child spoke of sunlit minds,
Of spirits drunk on earnest glee
Of bluer skies and better times
And thoughts that soar, alive and free.
The Elder said with grim delight,
“O Child, speak a while more.
I hang upon your clever words.
Remember me a time before!”
Again the Child spoke of skies,
The sated dusk of shadow-grey,
The blackened soot of leafless trees,
The midnight of the dying day.
“Again!” the Elder cried, “Again!
O speak of stars in darkened skies,
Of diamonds set in velvet night,
Ablaze in dreams and hopeful eyes!”
The Child breathed a heavy sigh,
And sorrow weighed in every hair,
The silence stretched an endless void
The Elder slung to empty air.
“So, speak!” the Elder cried again,
“For through your eyes I see the truth,
Pray, tell me of the twilit skies,
The morning blues and birds of youth!”
“The skies are black,” the Child said,
“The twilight droops with time gone by,
The morning glows are dull with life,
The daydreams have forgot to fly.
“The life’s been lived, the war’s been fought
And dust must take the heart of gold.
The years have sunk to grime and rust,
The Child’s youth too soon grows old.”
What pair they were, those fallen two,
To share the other’s wishing core!
The youthful Elder loves regret,
The ancient Child longs for more.