THERE IS ONLY ONE SEASON

(After LI PO)


It’s peaceful to rest in our garden.
To sit among lilies,
hollyhocks and hibiscus.
But the leaves already harden.
Winter will arrive soon.
Everything will be smothered
by ice and snow.
The robins nest is empty.
They’re seeking kinder weather.
A maple leaf clings to the branches,
but it must also die.
My wife has been dead two months.
As shadows slip over her grave,
I watch the moon climb up the sky,
lost, with nowhere to abide.
A gentle rain falls in the night,
but I’m afraid to go inside.
 
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About George Freek


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I can't make it interesting if there's nothing interesting there. Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, the most interesting thing in my life is the fact that I write poetry and plays (and often get the poetry published and the plays produced.)
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