Contemplation Poem by June Stepansky
Contemplation
It is time to sit quietly
and think about death.
I will choose a sunny day
filled with fragrances,
and think,
not of what comes after,
that eternal enigma,
but of the leaving
of human embraces,
of the demise of the senses,
taste, sound, touch, sight,
the lavish gifts of being alive.
Death has always been
sitting outside my door,
but now,
I can sometimes hear
his soft knocking.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/25/2024 2:22:06 PM # 1.0.0.1119
