the bridge is broken where it stood
the bridge of stone
the mill wheel will not turn again
and I miss home.
November's startled leaves by some mysterious angel, jinn
by some weird turning of the wind
will lift in random flight
the earth, rich loam, it seems my own
the skies filled with their ransomed light.
I used to feel with every leaf
like Shelley, my whole soul could lift
and in far childhood with a small wagon
i carried whatever I could of drifts
time has drifted now
I am the same somehow
sifted by love and grief
for this little bit
in the woods at dusk
but turn I must
through all this gold that now has set
and the leaf mold's beauty
I can't forget.
mary angela douglas 17 september 2019
No comments:
Post a Comment