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First and Last Poem of Winter
by H.M StevensWinter's song, forlorn and grey
Weaves steadily through,
what already (has been) had.
Snows
fall in heavy clumps
Blend and blur.
And Trees,
remain the only thing,
to catch their glory;
The last sighing vestige.
Romantic in their unknown ways,
For people: men and women,
are not acquainted
They only see
what passes through
branches tangled
glazed in nature's golden mist.
02/08/2005 Posted on 02/08/2005
Copyright © 2024 H.M Stevens
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Glenn Currier on 07/26/05 at 10:58 PM I like that third stanza the most, it does gives glory to trees and the lessons they have for us... And the last four lines are outstanding. They speak the human predicament. |
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