Thomas Lynch

Auld lange . . . sigh

Here at the beginning of the 20thyear of the 21stcentury; in the spirit of “out with the old, in with the new”; bearing in mind the cartoon personification of the passing year as a weary white-haired fellow; in special consideration of those readers of age to shudder at Father Time; with a sympathetic nod to […]


Scorn not the sonnet

Refusing at Fifty-Two to Write Sonnets       by Thomas Lynch       It came to him that he could nearly count   How many Octobers he had left to him   In increments of ten or, say, eleven   Thus: sixty-three, seventy-four, eighty-five.   He couldn’t see himself at ninety-six—   Humanity’s […]