Elegy Written in an Empty Field

The day is draped in gray;
Around me moves the swirling mist
Of everything that has been, or will be.
I stand here, looking up,
Not fully knowing why my chest
Seems so filled up with sadness. I’m resigned
To what my part, my role is, now, I guess:
For even clouds have shadows,
Moving ceaselessly, as they do.

Across the gray-green stubbled field,
A rusty fire hydrant sits.
It’s seen its better days, but still,
It on the lookout stands and waits,
It’s almost gray, and
At one with the day.

A lifetime’s work, a moment’s use:
What is this but labor, love, and honor.
These things we strive to build,
Then use so briefly.

New clouds form, and old ones go,
While the water this field needs
Lies trapped beneath a hydrant.
What we need may be at hand,
But that doesn’t mean we
Will ever have it.

And human breath, like other clouds,
May cause great storms, or
Make cool shade,
But in the end, it passes like a mist
Across the skies of other mists
Much closer to the ground.

Daily, Everywhere

Daily, everywhere, I see
Things no longer yet to be;
Signs of what’s forever “after”,
Moving swing, and children’s laughter

Daily, everywhere, I find
In my heart, and on my mind,
Pictures left of what was leaving:
Joy remembered,



A Country Autumn – 4

“A battlefield this was”
Is likely true
Most everywhere we go
If we just knew.

But history, at least
What we discuss
Or think about, must
Somehow concern us.

But empathy, perspective –
These can grow –
Just know to think
‘Bout what you think

You know