Grief Leaving

A trickle of music
down the hall from my flat
floats slender fragments of sound--
Harmonis leaves glide down
out of cool, autumnal Brahms;

silver whispers touch my cheek
and I shiver; they are notes,
small and tender, tiny pulses
along my senses--
blue and burgundy percussions
against cloudy remembrances--

next sunlight I look down
into a backyard swimming pool
deserted by ballons of summer laughter;
I glance up to see green fields hazed by heat
give way to wheat now;

Dark red leaves
lie still on the pool's bottom,
sliding, fading, almost forgotten.

by Edith Scott Johnson

Other poems of EDITH SCOTT JOHNSON (2)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.