On his way somewhere.
Joy of the early journey is past.
Leisure of the middle journey is spent.
Now we near the end.
How? How can life be nearly over?
So, before darkness settles in
And cold overtakes us on the road,
Let us relish one last bright day of warmth.
Blinded by blue and gold above,
Poignant in its lateness, its brilliance.
We smile at beauty this old,
At a belated traveler who pauses for
Such rest.
Poem is copyrighted by the author.
4 comments:
Can I link to this??
:) As I read this and re-read the title of the post it made me wonder if a bunch of leaves is called a 'hurry' like a bunch of crows is called a 'murder'...
Your talent is showing, btw.
Mags -- yes, of course! I'd be honored :)
Melissa, you know, I thought the same silly thing! haha :)
love the poem and the photo!
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