The poet dies
In the perfumed night.
Every metaphor
Passing away
Into the infinity of silence
Should be embalmed;
I’m alarmed
That love never survives
After spring flowers
Fade into autumn!
That's what I call rich brevity like the evanescent love it describes. Susie.
Again you trigger a chain of thoughts by highlighting fine details and smudging others.. Dreamlike
There's no infinity of silence with you ever, is there? A great read that leaves me wanting more but knoweing that the rest of it is up to me. Thanks for this one, Uriah.
I think you have such a gift of ''almost'' giving the reader a clear picture of what you mean but then blowing a beautiful fog over reality so it's just out of our grasp...left to our own imaginations. I think this is beautiful Uriah. It's interesting how even the night is perfumed in the eyes of a poet that is dying....very nice. sincerely, Mary
Lovely poem, Uriah. It lingers in the mind like a gentle, half-forgotten tune. kindest regards, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
an accurate eye tuned to current truth with that grand romantic finish a wonderful poem