October (With Thanks To T.S. Eliot) Poem by Anne Brooke
October (With Thanks To T.S. Eliot)
You were wrong,
my poetic friend, because
October is the cruellest month, burying
dead leaves in dead soil, mixing
grief and longing, stirring
dying flowers with autumn rain.
It leaves me mourning
a distant summer, as I watch
the brief, hot green of hope
drift, unrealised in time,
through soft grasses
and towards the winter plain.
Friday, October 4, 2013
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4/17/2024 11:40:47 PM # 1.0.0.1119
