Yet another poem has arrived in the inbox. Thank you!
Particularly like the line –
‘Mists wisping slowly through the trees’
Midwinter mourning
There is a time for living
And a time for dying
They say, and
They may be right,
Though these ends do not feel as
Ends but new beginnings
As the midwinter days slide to their
Shortest,
Nights their longest
The Sun at his lowest ebb.
And yet the land is fresh
The morning lorikeets raucous
On the Eucalypt flower
Yellow tufted parrotbush,
A world awash in fullness.
Mists wisping slowly through the trees
Across the roads as we rush on by
Rush on by
In not notice, in mindless busy.
And a dog died, a dearly beloved,
So we grieve, in our way,
For the light that has left
The world and we wait
For renew
Of the hope
Of the life
Of the spark
That lights a fire
In the heart
That was always beating
In midwinter.
