Growing Old

 

A man no longer what he was,

nor yet the thing he’d planned

    Edna St. Vincent Millay     

 

  

 

Near midday, though there has been no sun,

All morning the darkening clouds thundering

From the west in their passing, then slowing

And gathering and deepening until all the air

Becoming a stillness and a silence, growing

And lowering, purple-tinged below and black

Above, the first few drops falling and reaching

The far hill and nearer pines where a sparrow

Suddenly, without a sound but with hesitation,

Is lifting and veering and turning and almost

As suddenly returning, as though the sky now

Could never hold even one so small and alone.

 





Poetry by countryfog
Read 664 times
Written on 2015-08-18 at 04:49

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The weather was unsettled here this weekend and you describe a coming storm perfectly, my friend. Our resident wood pigeons were as unsettled as your little sparrow, unsure of where to place themselves, it seemed. The sparrow's movements are very well observed and the last lines bestow a poignant vulnerability. Gentle applause from BBP :-) :>)
2015-08-24


Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
The period before a storm is always so ominous. I often wonder how the birds feel knowing that sky will soon open. You often see them screeching by at such a high speed before the rain. I enjoyed reading this very much. You put the reader right into the scene.
2015-08-21



Your poem takes the reader in a journey through both nature and life, hand in hand. What a beautiful treat it is to read it.
Ash
2015-08-18


shells
Such graceful beauty in these lines and a sense of natures realisation. The older I get the more aware I feel in those still moments.
2015-08-18