A Brief Note To A Poet Long Dead
And all of the fair hills that know you,
Wayfarer, are known to me as well.
Friedrich Holderlin, "The Nekar"
Intricate lacework of stars unraveling
As the first yellowing light begins to fill
The hollow crease between two low hills,
The rusty russet boughs of a dying pine
Where a squirrel is scattering dry needles.
Herr Holderlin, you said we must always
Write that 'one more poem,' but by then
You were insane, and now one more night
Has passed with nothing to be said for it,
Nor, it seems, anything to be said for us.
The light coming on, though, says more
In silence than we ever had words for;
The squirrel is certainly more rational
Than we ever were; and that dying pine -
Ah Friedrich, that's our one more poem.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2015-08-06 at 17:59
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