2019-12-08
by
Eleanor Goldfield
There’s a barren beauty to the late year –
a sleeping beauty
a quiet life that whispers –
before the crescendo of spring
a patient pulse
that the busy mind would find –
idle
but for all our hurried hours –
our surface sprint –
it is this dark earth –
these frozen veins –
that carry promise
a still life –
is still life
a necessary slow –
that quickens time –
a remind
that now is then and then is past
neither a heady summer
nor a faded fall –
will last
This is part of a new series called “Poetry Plates” that I may turn into a book…
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