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Poem

All the strawberry's and moss rose's bushes
are slowing budding along the dusty bridle paths,
and as the husky New York cowboys pull down their hats,
they don't seem to excite their trotting horses;
and I am slower than they are...dragging my aching feet
to barren fields, where yesterday's lovers loved to dream!


And as the dormant forest awaits spring,
below the rain-soaked hill, some trees dingle from it's corroded cliffs
that are thickly covered with maroon leaves;
but the innocuous squirrels, unaware, scare away the wandering robin
that is too lonely and looks for sign of existence,
and my observation is a note worthy one by the rhythm of his wings!


My memorable childhood was spent observing the diverse seasons,
and the spectacular colors that bewildered me...enhancing their significance,
and whoever saw that child with a rosy face and short, curly hair:
must have thought to have seen a cherub with the softest wings,
who never tired of discovering new flowers and trees;
jotting down every detail in his handy notebook, to create words with flair! 


Rest under the pale sky, tired man and write your drama;
your strength has diminished as sunsets ultimately do;
you have seen the dawn with its intense light and a bright star, too:
that star which always illuminated your path and spirit!
Now, don't cease to exist and vanish like a dark star...
peacefully sleep, as the dormant forest awaits spring!


Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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