Wednesday, February 24, 2010

the breeze





the door of
my hut sags

as i sit
waiting the

final call
of the green

court, and a
chilly breeze

rises from
the north west

lifting the
last few strands

of my white
hair and beard

when the first
leaves fall i

will open
the cask i

sealed in spring
in the depths

of purple
wine what

picture
will i see?


3 comments:

Sandra (if) said...

that anticipation....a nice thought...!

Ande said...

I guess we all must open these casks. Wonderful poem.

Francis Scudellari said...

I sense a bit of melancholy in this one. Very nicely done.