dust of creation
he writes each morning,
this poet who says he is as old as dirt,
up before dawn
pulling on cracked leather boots
caked with red mud
stuffing weathered hands deep into pockets
of tattered brown sweatshirt
hood pulled up tight against the chill,
slowly he walks the windrow
stooping now and then
plucking a blade of grass
calculating the season
by the rise of the river
the budding of the willow
with each measured foot fall
dust clouds rise up in his wake
salutations to the morning sun
poems,
permanence,
of these fleeting days
- for RA, 1923-2006
pab © march 2014
he writes each morning,
this poet who says he is as old as dirt,
up before dawn
pulling on cracked leather boots
caked with red mud
stuffing weathered hands deep into pockets
of tattered brown sweatshirt
hood pulled up tight against the chill,
slowly he walks the windrow
stooping now and then
plucking a blade of grass
calculating the season
by the rise of the river
the budding of the willow
with each measured foot fall
dust clouds rise up in his wake
salutations to the morning sun
poems,
permanence,
of these fleeting days
- for RA, 1923-2006
pab © march 2014
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