On Turning Seventy
I think it came to me in sleep
that when at Anzac dawn parades
old soldiers weep
it’s not as they will say for fallen comrades
but for the young self full of sap and fire
as distant now and caught in coils of time
as one the bullets of some half-forgotten war
stopped in his prime.
‘On Turning Seventy’, from Dog (Auckland University Press, 2002), © C K Stead 2002, used by permission of the author.
Recording from the Aotearoa New Zealand Poetry Sound Archive 2004.