My Fiftieth Year Ronald Beckett

Although the summer Sunlight gild
Cloudy leafage of the sky
Or wintry moonlight sink the field
In storm-scattered intricacy
I cannot look thereon
Responsibility so weighs me down

Things said or done long years ago
Or things I did not do or say
But thought that I might say or do
Weigh me down, and not a day
But something is recalled
My conscience or my vanity appalled