FREDERICK W. REID, POET
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FWR
The Desert of the Mind

My years wind down and, as they wind,
Descend into areas of thought of a kind
That nurture the notion, fertility here
Has turned to futility, dry and sere;

Where once wild freshets ran full careen
Through extravagant foliage lush and green,
Each hill, every valley lavished with rain,
Each hillside abundant with golden grain,

Where all winds gathered from near and far
Beneath an indulgent thought-blessing star,
Where poetry flourished in a floriate land,
There is now but barren bleak burning sand;

Time offers neither the nourishing source
Nor stream from which to gather new force;
No root reaches down, no sprig will start,
Mind's garden turns desert in every part;

Thought once resplendent in living light
Is now respondent to the blasts of blight,
Condemned by a fallow improvident urge
To become all desiccate, dull and durge;

The years close in and will soon conclude,
But why let thought such as this intrude;
I still stroll under that warm living sky
Of love, and even as the mind burns dry

The heart remains full to the very brim,
Protected by the angels and the seraphim
Who shade ripened love from a desert sun
That turns all thought to dust and to dun.