The Last Season
Rating: ★5.0
This is the last season
Winds blow without the lilt
of summer song.
The distance ends at no horizon-
all is here and now.
The land of the heart is wet.
Still the subterranean spring hums
the rain songs of yesterdays.
Memory will bring a new season
not of this earth.
Branches are twigs now.
But with a little rain
buds may come.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
The last season in a man's life is the most poignant one. The tree is bare. We are waiting by force of habit for new leaves, which after all may not come. We may escape the cycle of seasons and not live to see new buds. Still there is hope that things may turn out differently
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