(04 October 1943 / Germany)

A Passing

Maples, proudly
showing
scarlet leaves,
in brazen wind.

An icy prominence,
he shuffles
down the path,
well-lined by
powdered birches.

No sound is heard,
a prickly feeling
of melancholy happiness
engulfing gently
his frail physique.

Yes, 'Welcome',
the word
slips easily
off bluish lips
as solitude now beckons
and offers up
a bed of moss
to rest a little while.

It was a miracle
that, strangely,
he had reached
down here
on earth
his paradise.

User Rating: 2,4 / 5 ( 5 votes ) 4

Comments (4)

I found this to be very touching Herbert. Great poem. Sincerely, Mary
a fine exploration of where to look where to find and how we're all bound to this whirling planet and that's a good thing a strong delicate poem
snore.... I fell asleep after A...
This is such a cool poem Herbert! That last stanza is so encouraging to all of us, not quite believers in Heaven on earth. 10 from a firm believer Tai