In early spring,
In the hospital garden
No birds sing.
Or perhaps its me
With my thoughts of mortality
Who fails to hear
When they sing to men.
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Copyright: Kevin Morris.
In the Hospital Garden, in Early Spring
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Tag Archives: nature poem
Twilight
Just a single, solitary, call,
From a bird heard in the hospital garden
As the twilight
Was swallowed by night.
.
Copyright: Kevin Morris
I Leave Dry Leaves
I leave dry leaves behind.
Yet, I find
Leaves still whisper to me
Of my mortality.
Often they sound the same as rain.
I will return again
For they are part of my heart.
And poetry may live on
When I am gone.
While the rain will remain
Useless Thought
6 degrees.
The air in the wood is good.
Leaves fall
And a Blackbird’s call
Follows me through the trees.
My mind should be still
But. Like a mill
I find my mind grinds
And the bird is only half heard.
Would that I could
Be one with bird and tree
But useless thought
Has it’s hold on me.
Yet, sitting here
I can almost hear
The Blackbird
And see the beauty of each tree
Which yesterday I failed to see.
August Storm
This storm in late August
Has stripped many leaves from trees.
Twigs snap and crack underfoot.
All Augusts must fade to September.
And I remember
Autumn must come.
Satisfaction
The birds outside
Are so easily satisfied
With stale bread.
My dog loudly sighs
As he eyes
That tempting bread.
But none can pass
Through glass to grass …
The Old Tree
In my adulthood
I passed by the tree
Well known to me
In my childhood.
It stands by a path
Where many have passed
That old tree
Without a glance or sigh.
Our lives move fast
As we rush to catch
Some form of transport.
And we all are caught
In time’s great web.
All our loves and lusts
Must turn to dust.
And even this great tree,
Which will outlast me,
Will be dead
Hope
There was heavy rain
In the churchyard
As I hurried by
Cold old stones.
Later the sun came,
And early flowers
Groped for the spring.
Morn
In the early morn
The carpet is warm
Under my feet
As I recall
How leaves fall
In the wood nearby.
The seasons repeat.
But I will die.
Leaves
Once green leaves
Are brown
On the ground.
Great trees
Wither and die
And I
See dead leaves
At my door.
K Morris - Poet 