My existence here is temporary,
Like raindrop, like snow-flake, like winter,
A moment in angled sunlight,
A leaf in a bastion of blue—

And then the slip of sound and then to silence,
By earth tones and statuary,
Rivulets and breeze,
Singular notes—--the end of a season,
Not likely to return until spring.

08/17/2008

Posted on 08/17/2008
Copyright © 2026 Jim Moore