When I am old with you, sister
we will creak and sigh
Like the floors and drafts
Of the old house,
And listen to the snow falling
On the moonlit pines.
When I am old with you, sister
We will grumble at worms and beetles
We discover around the roots
Of the lettuce in the garden,
Dusted by rustling corn tassels
In broad sunlight.
When I am old with you, sister
We will argue about poets,
And linguistic delicacies,
Scattering our writing pads and drawings
On the table in the sunroom
As the rain falls on the skylight.
When I am old with you, sister
We will slurp our mint tea
And eat marmalade toast,
Fussing over placement of pictures
In the album, laughing
‘Til tears wet our shirtfronts.
