A golden shovel

Today, I attempted to write a 'golden shovel', a poem in which the last word of every line is that of another poem. The poem I have chosen from which to dig is William Butler Yeats' When you are old.

As this is my first ever attempt at a 'golden shovel', I have only uprooted the words of the first stanza of Yeats' fine work. The result is that I wrote from a 'stream of consciousness'. I'm not quite sure if I like the outcome. I sincerely doubt that Yeats would approve...

I loved you once

 

I loved you once when

you were you

and not how others are;

 now that you're old,

I love you more and

no grey 

skies could conquer your light and

 joy so full

 of

inner strength; but sleep,

 and sing and

dream, while I smile, nodding,

knowing, remembering by

the wrinkles around your eyes, the

 great fire,

that once was in them, a fire that would take,

 would claim all joyful moments and burn down;

all unfortunate memories; this

 great heart, great book,

of life and

adventure that now slowly

 fades; I read

once of your desire and

wishful dream

to see all of

the great world, all of the

rolling hills so soft

beneath your feet; you'd once again look,

and feel with your

heart, see clearly with eyes

that once had

seen it all before, once,

had felt it all before and

taken it all in; all that of

beauty that was never yours. Now you go to their

reflection, the beauty and shadows

of mountains strong and deep.

 

 

Andrea Vermaak

 

 

 

 

To read the rest of Yeats' nostalgic poem, visit http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172055