Old man fading,
A dusty,
Old quill, nearly silenced
His fingers, ink-stained sensations
Could really fiddle…
Flailing those poetic strings
Like whispers to the ages,
Now a soundless voice, on
An orchestra’s score-less page.
(Mountaintop Cottage, Tennessee
~July 12,2006)
~published 2007: The Emancipator LMU Literary Journal
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem