Seasons to the Dead

This poem was written at a rather depressing point in winter...and the fact that one of my relatives died so that was mainly inspired by both.

 

The heavy snowdrifts pile high

Like a blanket under the sky

Here I listen and here I lie

And here let I a sorrowful sigh.

I watch it all; the seasons change

I know them all by name

Yet I with mournful longing range

The summer’s evening; sunset’s tame.

Like a dream the leaves fall

Fluttering down like flightless birds

Letting out there final call

Wanting peace to come to all.

The flower’s reopen beaming in light

To them it’s new and strange and bright

The birds leave their Northern nests

And leave for South’s longing flight.

Reviews

[J.A.Bentley]

Love this poem beek.

Ryan. Logged onto JB's account. Just to read your stuff.