Never To Rust

The last leaves fall down. But his inscape is not bare. Myriads of wild growths, he’s pruned with shears. His pupils blossom in the distant desert too. But the wind brings not only the floral fragrance He’s a lightship on the sea of ignorance. His scarlet desires lie frozen beneath the moral cliff. Age and efficiency aren’t always correlative.Yet it’s time for his funeral in service. His knowledge will no longer be ignited in the classroom.That brass bell will ring in his memory. Retirement is foreign in origin, unbecoming for his indigenous passion. Robert Frost’s two roads appear again. He will make another wise choice. To retire to rest is to rust. Dedicated to the protagonist in the poem, Mr.Sachidanandan T K. First published in The Literary Hatchet.