The Death Of A Year

Read this poet

Ian Stewart Black

The summer of my mirth has fled:
Long since wilted are the lily,
Rose and dahlia; the sun despairs
in darkness, and the leaves are dead.

My blood is nectar for the moon:
Rotting apples of the season
Litter listless streets, where blossoms sought
To make their merry way in June.

For death has come, the world is bare:
Stillness falls on all in mourning;
Dreary clouds in desolation weep
From heavens greying in despair.

Our happiness and hope exhaust:
Roseate and gilded leaves are
Torn from withered trees; Another year
Is dead, and all we had is lost.

View original post

Advertisements

About Katherine

I like poetry and history, literature and music.
This entry was posted in thoughts. Bookmark the permalink.

What do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s