Gold drips from barren trees
Sunlight older in the afternoon
Grown tired, brown leaves scatter
Wind carries them where it will
Winter’s coming to the fields,
The parks, the streets, the neighborhoods
Old man huddles in his room
Blanket drawn high to chest
He knew a love once, long ago
Love gone now, his memories devouring
Looks out through the window pane
Neighbor kids playing on the lawn
Leaves piled high, and then they jump
They laugh–he sees smiling faces
But only hears the hiss of the radiator
Kicking on now for the first time
Bone-dry heat fills the tiny room
And the blanket falls again
A poignant poem.
I too, am like this Old man. Nothing can keep me warm as my love did yet the memories are fresh and sweet.
The blanket falling–exposing one’s self.
Love long ago, never forgotten, yet an opportunity to capture youth like the neighbor kids smiling.