Lowestoft Chronicle, Spring, 2012
forget the slant of November sun’s wan rays
Berkshire afternoons with shortening days…
of grouse exploding by your trail
silent woods, now somber as a page of Braille,
from the side, past stubble rows and stones
lichened markers tilted over bones
settlers, soldiers, victims of Indian raids—
that prove their history never fades.
glare obscures the turn to reach the place
thought would ease with sweet familiar grace.
long away has made proportions seem askew.
yearn to taste the memory, to prove it will renew
warmth, paint-box colors: greens and blues,
and golds—the myriad lively hues
brimful times, the joys of fruitful years.
pallid light foretells all, as winter nears.