A Passing
H
Herbert Nehrlich
0
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Maples, proudly
showing
scarlet leaves,
in brazen wind.
An icy prominence,
he shuffles
down the path,
well-lined by
powdered birches.
No sound is heard,
a prickly feeling
of melancholy happiness
engulfing gently
his frail physique.
Yes, 'Welcome',
the word
slips easily
off bluish lips
as solitude now beckons
and offers up
a bed of moss
to rest a little while.
It was a miracle
that, strangely,
he had reached
down here
on earth
his paradise.
Bu şiiri puanla
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