Why We Call It Passing Away

"At my age . . . what is there left to

 confront but the great simplicities?"

       -  Stanley Kunitz





I don't know exactly where it was, or when,

But live long enough and we, mostly without

Even knowing it, cross over the line between

Measuring out the passage of our brief days

Not by what is gained but by what is lost, 

As now, rain falling harder and wind rising,

The last of hydrangea planted by my neighbor,

Dead now two months, shudders and slumps,

Surrendering its shattered lavender body

To the slope and slip of ground where rain

Laps over the leaf-filled gutter and one by one

Petals lift and drift away on the runoff, how

In every flourishing are seeds of abandonment,

His house now empty within and without,

He in his leaving now well and truly gone.

Poetry by countryfog
Read 571 times
Written on 2013-08-04 at 15:28

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Nils Teodor The PoetBay support member heart!
I loved this
Thanks for sharing

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
True and well said, Fog.

Amy Valentina
I have always loved reading your work. They are thoughtful with a profoundness that's rare. The most powerful verse in this one for me is "Not by what is gained but by what is lost"... It really makes me wonder why we are so sad most of the times and why can't we be happy for what we have rather than being sad for what we don't have...
Beautiful one...


Morning Star
So very powerfully expressed, and expertly written.
You captured the experience of loss magnificently Countryfog.
Loved your poem.
Morning Star