Evening Poem, September 21, 2016




As summer slips into autumn

So afternoon fades to dusk

And the new moisture in the air

Carries aroma from the open ground

And the hay’s second cutting

That lies in furrows on the broad field

Under the moon that paints the world silver.


As day passes, my thoughts are drawn

To others who have passed

Old men, lots of them

Who kept their cars for twenty years

Pulled their weight

And served their generation

And some young men.


Across the way a naked yellow bulb

Lights the front of a barn

The old wood seems to glisten

I smell the sweet new-cut grass

Some flower heavy in the air

Far away woodsmoke

And something else I ache for

But cannot name.


Copyright 2016

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