Salute Poem by James Marcus Schuyler
Salute
Past is past, and if one
remembers what one meant
to do and never did, is
not to have thought to do
enough? Like that gather-
ing of one each I
planned, to gather one
of each kind of clover,
daisy, paintbrush that
grew in that field
the cabin stood in and
study them one afternoon
before they wilted. Past
is past. I salute
that various field.
Submitted by Larry Bole
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 10:03:48 AM # 1.0.0.1119
