Sometimes I think we poets obsess
Too much on grim death.
We hear the blackbird sing
And say “the flowers that bloom
In spring,
And this bird, so full of joy,
Time will destroy,
All too soon”.
We obsess
Over the maid
In her white
dress,
And say, “she will fade
Into the eternal night”.
Yet there is much delight
In the maid,
And when, into the night
Poet and maid
fade,
They may leave to posterity,
More than poetry.
Good one. Wondering what a maid and birds may think 🙂
Thank you. I’m delighted you like my poem. I guess the wonderful thing about birds is that they don’t think, they just live in the moment and there is something to be said for that. If the maid is poetic, perhaps she thinks on poetry! Best, Kevin
Really beautiful poem, sort of counter poem to those who focus on death and say… what about the living that was done?
Thanks for stopping by the Go Dog Go Cafe today!
Stephen
Many thanks for your kind words, Stephen. I’m delighted you like my poem. I have, myself penned quite a few poems about death, and it was being conscious of this fact which, in part at least prompted me to compose this poem. Death should, I believe remain an important topic for poets, however I am, as mentioned above (and set-out in this poem) acutely conscious that we poets can become obsessed with death. All the best, Kevin
I totally understand this. Love reading your poetry! All of it, with death and without!
Thank you! I’m delighted you enjoy reading my poetry. Best wishes, Kevin
🤓🙏🤓
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