I know the year is dying,
Soon the summer will be dead.
I can trace it in the flying
Of the black crows overhead;
I can hear it in the rustle
Of the dead leaves as I pass,
And the south wind’s plaintive sighing
Through the dry and withered grass.
Ah, ’tis then I love to wander,
Wander idly and alone,
Listening to the solemn music
Of sweet nature’s undertone;
Wrapt in thoughts I cannot utter,
Dreams my tongue cannot express,
Dreams that match the autumn’s sadness
In their longing tenderness.
-Mortimer Crane Brown
Technorati Tags: Autumn – nature – sadness
Fine poem
The transcendance of Being
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It’s empty in my head
Not dumb but living
In Silence everything is
The seeds of all that was and shall be
In Emptiness I live
Not in a shadow
A thing that passes quickly
Changes face and colour just because it can
In foreverness I prefer
That Ringing Radiance
That drunken wine of Being
I drink and its intoxication woos me over and over again
I die each moment
Reborn only to disappear again
Wobbling in the drunkenness of Spirit
I am, here in the garden of compassion
Tony Hogan
Laoch – thanks! I thought so too.
Tony – glad you stopped in and thanks so much for sharing your own poetry
Beautiful poem, beautiful words. “Dreams that match the autumn’s sadness. In their longing tenderness.” Hmm, these words make me really think ^_^
Beautiful poem. It has great flow.