Poetry

I like this by James Kavanaugh:

“I was born to catch dragons in their den

And pick flowers

To tell tales and laugh away the morning…

To drift and dream like a lazy stream

And walk barefoot across sunset days…” 

Last Words of Crowfoot, Blackfoot Warrior and Orator, 1890 At least this supposedly his last words…

“What is life?

It is the flash

of a firefly in the night.

It is the breath of a buffalo

in the wintertime.

It is the little

shadow which runs across the grass

and loses itself in the sunset.” 

                        The following poem affected me deeply when I read it…I’m not sure why. 

“My sincere hope is

to leave the world in Spring

Under the blooming cherry–

In February, if possible,

On the eve of the full moon.”

Sanka Shu

 

                      It led me to write the following:

 

Leave Taking

Shall I leave in the summer

 while cicadas shrill and

The nights are full of gardenia

and honeysuckle?

 

Or shall I leave in Autumn

with Crimson maples and

The harvest moon?

 

Perhaps in Winter with

the sting of sleet and

the rattle of bare branches

in a hopeless wind?

 

No! I want to go in

early Spring with

crocus and nodding daffodils

in a light mist with

rain dripping from the eaves…

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All the flowers
have fallen in this wind
blowing through the night
What will there be
for consolation tomorrow?