Minutes Of Falling Days (From Minutes Of Falling Days) Poem by Peter S. Quinn

Rain is raining now
Filling the past in forgetting
Something will go somehow
Flows of the drops whetting
Dreams that could never be
Only are lost from here
Times of the gone they will see
Hours of loneliness share

Fill the empty sky
With every lost cloud’s drift
We have not asked why
These were on a bare rift
Minutes of falling days
Coloring blanching leaves
Each of the many sorrow ways
Full of its grayish graves

Why must it be so?
Only to be of every part lost
Turnings of know one to know
In to the earth of dark rust
Strangers of every reaction
Feelings that come to decrease
Never to our ways attraction
Passing on like wind in trees