Generations

Here where I have come so often, this stream
Rushes on each Spring to some other place
Beyond the boundaries of my little journeys,
A deeper destination neither of us yet knows.

Here sparrows in the bent leaning cottonwoods
I saw yesterday, or perhaps that was years ago
And these have descended even as they rise up
From their old nests and into their new lives.

Perhaps I am here now only in those whose path
Follows a strange shared singing in their blood;
Not knowing now of me but hearing in that voice
The part of me I have wished them to know.

How my old songs are made new again in them.




Poetry by countryfog
Read 461 times
Written on 2011-04-19 at 17:15

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
This is the perfect expression of spring's appeal: "old songs made new again." Very nice.
2011-04-24



Hauntingly lifting and the last line brings it all together. Almost prayerful in its beauty.
2011-04-21