ON WINNING A CUP AT 61

Posted by Admin on Monday, 31st March 2008, 00:00

Poised on ebon plinth,
argent, half-ovoid, it reflects
the room – dominates the décor
with burnished splendour;
its convex planes engraved
memoratively.

Yet, what avails that silver prize
which I alone am here to see?
No parents’ joy, no spouse’s pride
conduce to my felicity.
No kith, no kin, remain to care
what laurels wreath an ageing brow:
an empty cup – life’s homologue –
what else presents my trophy now?

T. C. Hudson
1971

© T. C. Hudson.

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