golden years

I’m prone to penning poetry,
since I have sensed the symmetry
that's hidden from most mortal eyes
behind a dull, but deft disguise:

The beauty of a leaf or bud,
the silence of a winding wood.
The echo in my deep heart’s core
that bids me love and hate no more.

I’m sensitive, some say a seer!
With prophet’s powers and eyes that peer
into the future, dark and deep,
where some will dance and some will weep.

Yes, I’m a poet raised on rhymes,
a child who’s tasted troubled times.
Yet, through this valley’s veil of tears
I’ve glimpsed the dawn of golden years!