Time eking, Time leaking
through the stray threads
of offshoot tendrils of
not-yet-completed
not-yet-needed
jackets and shawls,
blankets and throws
which, heaped in the corner,
complained heartily to
the lighter linens:
"When shall it be ours?
You run us out of use
so quickly, when may we be?"
Said the linens to the wool:
"Let be, let be-- have we
any control over the seasons
or the quickness of the
old woman's hands?
Rejoice in the weather
which lends her joints
new strength, bless the
nights, slow, not torpid,
the days which ease
the overwrought mind
which still fears the
eminent, imminent chill.
Ask not your time
'til you know the chores
be done."
A contest entry
- Indian Summer by ea.
600 points, ended October 11, 2008, 5 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
...
Comments
-
This is a lively and original take on the prompt of "Old Woman's Summer" and I enjoy it very much. It's candid and whimsical and the detail about how this time of year can spell relief for old bones is appreciated. I can see the fairy laundry every morning when I walk out -- wonderful entry!
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