David McLansky

Rookie - 436 Points (5/24/1944 / New York City)

Dying Men


Dying men
Bell the season,
But give no pause
To Nature's treason;
We grow to height
And then decay,
We reproduce
Along the way;
Self-aware
Of other Selves,
We know despair
As love dispels;

When Earth returns,
Its journey run,
And Spring once more
Her magic sprung,
I will be
Dried skin and bones;
My wisdom summed
Upon a stone.

Submitted: Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Edited: Monday, August 18, 2014

Topic of this poem: love lost


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