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In Time
by Angela Cottermanfor W.H. Auden
I reached over, just now, for Auden,
whom I keep on my nightstand. Mid-reach,
I remember that I have packed him for the move
and cannot, without noise at this late hour,
read his Lullaby. Oh, must I then imagine,
on my own, the sublime of a star-voided
sky? I find, romance aside, that I cannot
throw out his cracked teacup, no matter how I try,
for there is flu in our cities, and within the milieu, unrest.
Are we fools, enough, to forget the fall of Rome? 08/14/2009 Posted on 08/14/2009
Copyright © 2024 Angela Cotterman
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Linda Fuller on 08/30/11 at 06:23 PM A finely wrought and moving poem. Glad to see this as POTD, and thank you for introducing me to Auden's Lullaby. |
| Posted by Alli Martel on 08/30/11 at 07:02 PM This is beautiful; I adore the movement, the questioning. Congrats on the well-deserved POTD! |
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