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| Open Poetry #35 |
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October |
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Huan Yi Member Ascendant
since 2004-10-12
Posts 6688Waukegan 
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An old man Just up the hill Is writing a poem To the Autumn moon Even this late As leaves rustle Their last farewells He dwells on her Who rises Still and slowly passes Across his own horizon In an air Not as yet too cold He hears the notes Of a wooden flute Being played |
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| © Copyright 2005 John Pawlik - All Rights Reserved | |||
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passing shadows Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577displaced |
nice |
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LeeJ Member Patricius
since 2003-06-19
Posts 13296 |
and the gift is in hearing... and the warmth of her, her touch, her belief, her impact on everyone whose known her...in the old man's heart, he is young again, upon visitation to this place... this vision... Lovely |
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