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Green days and sunshine
turn to Indian Summer,
and the small but telling signs
that winter comes.

Nothing in a bottle will save you.

Season's turning
strips us bare,
and truth's towering form
casts its shadow.

Dust to dust.

Youth is squeezed out
of mottled hands,
flesh goes slack.
The body yearns
to plop into a wicker chair,
fuss and  fury ended.

But the mind still feels
spring's caress
and, seeing youth
pass along a city street,
recalls an earlier season.

Fires die but sparks remain,
and I will eat of the apple
all the days of my life.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl.


Old Egg said...

Ain't that the truth! Joking aside this poem read so beautifully (mainly because I could see myself as the main character too!).

March 16, 2014 at 5:35 AM
Laurie Kolp said...

But the mind still feels
spring's caress

...and that's all that really matters.

March 16, 2014 at 7:22 AM
annell4 said...

Probably nothing in a bottle will save you….

March 16, 2014 at 8:37 AM
Jae Rose said...

Even when tired and ready to succumb I hope there is that spark that keeps us fighting to grow old.. Perhaps a ship taken out of a bottle could be the thing that if not saves you lets you gently rest on the waves for a while..I could picture and feel each and every line..and wave

March 16, 2014 at 9:24 AM
Maude Lynn said...

I adore those closing lines!

March 16, 2014 at 10:28 AM
brenda w said...

Nothing in a bottle will save you... I like that, and the dust to dust... In italics those lines seemed to whisper. Strong work, and I concur with your ending. :)

March 16, 2014 at 10:55 AM
Cathy said...

Brilliant poem!!! I now that feeling too.

March 16, 2014 at 2:29 PM
veronica said...

This is so true. The mottled hands... ah, yes, and no, no bottle will curtail the process. Great wordle!

March 17, 2014 at 8:28 AM
Alice Audrey said...

Wait. Can't we stick with Spring a bit longer?

March 17, 2014 at 9:37 PM
Belva Rae Staples said...

I love this line: Fires die but sparks remain. Thank God for a few sparks!

March 19, 2014 at 3:19 PM
Gillena Cox said...

Its Thursday and i'm just now posting my wordle response and reading around

enjoyed the remaining spark although youth is squeezed out of mottled hands

nice poem

much love...

March 21, 2014 at 6:58 AM

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