Winter Wood
When I am an old man
I will think of words--
sitting in electric-blue pants
and blazing red t-shirt
with one pocket.
Encapsulated in the sleep of ancients
I will gently rock
in a straight-backed chair
eyelids a flutter.
Popping, dancing words
—racing, now sauntering--
sleek words, round words,
creeping words,
hidden words visible
only in dark shadows
and around corners.
These will fill my eyes
like the whoosh of
gathered birds startled
up in the cooling woods.
When I can no longer
bend and grasp the clown-weed;
bed the red impatiens;
walk to capture shadows & light;
wade in running cold streams;
reach for her hand in the dark;
or grasp the pen to form the lines--
then I will live protected
in my world of words
flashing in my eyes
like the rays of sun
in a winter wood.
Grieve not for the silence
for it is the certainty
craved — a sleep
of true rest with
no fear of coming hunger.
Grieve not for the quietude
of this slumbering ancient
in the straight-backed chair
— gently rocking.
Rose Lake
October 23, 2005
East Lansing Series
©2005 Winter Wood — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.
I will think of words--
sitting in electric-blue pants
and blazing red t-shirt
with one pocket.
Encapsulated in the sleep of ancients
I will gently rock
in a straight-backed chair
eyelids a flutter.
Popping, dancing words
—racing, now sauntering--
sleek words, round words,
creeping words,
hidden words visible
only in dark shadows
and around corners.
These will fill my eyes
like the whoosh of
gathered birds startled
up in the cooling woods.
When I can no longer
bend and grasp the clown-weed;
bed the red impatiens;
walk to capture shadows & light;
wade in running cold streams;
reach for her hand in the dark;
or grasp the pen to form the lines--
then I will live protected
in my world of words
flashing in my eyes
like the rays of sun
in a winter wood.
Grieve not for the silence
for it is the certainty
craved — a sleep
of true rest with
no fear of coming hunger.
Grieve not for the quietude
of this slumbering ancient
in the straight-backed chair
— gently rocking.
Rose Lake
October 23, 2005
East Lansing Series
©2005 Winter Wood — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.