happy b'day

yes,

poetry is a dying art,
and so is my tribe.
death comes at no prize
and is no more a crime.
youth never haunts but old age does.
a decade or two is never startin dusk.
for aren't the mountains still young.
forever youth it does give rivers.
yet age you must,or can't be human.
and as few befor you,age shall you:
like tender vine.


shall,

take thy leave now,
joinin my tribe.
but die shall i in my time.