Kees Boukema
*
Let me disclose the gifts reserved for age
To set a crown upon your lifetime's effort
First, the cold friction of expiring sense
Without enchantment, offering no promise
But bitter tastelessness of shadow fruit
As body and soul begin to fall asunder.
Second, the conscious impotence of rage
At human folly, and the laceration
of laughter at what ceases to amuse.