Twilight, No Morning Star
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The sunset croons a lullaby to trees
In rows of dark . . . then darker green. The sun
Goes down on orange blossoms in a breeze
As warm as memories. Where the boys had fun
As if in team sports never quite conceived,
The orange blossoms and their leaves are lost
To all except the boys now left to grieve
As older men for mothers who have crossed
The sunset long ago to bloomless graves.
They heard the lullaby so long ago
That they are silent in its sound. The naves
In orange aisles are now a specter’s glow.
The trees, though, now are also darkly gone
And never will again see singing dawn.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Apr 23, 2025 | BR, DE, FL, TI |