The dead leaves on wet grass
have no memory of the wind
that blew them there
or anything else they endured
As the broken cow skull
looking down with hollow eyes
has no memory of seeing them
lying in their eternal autumn
Only the living are burdened with that gift
Published in Open Arts Forum on .
I am a retired entomologist/educator and have been writing poetry for a long time. It's only been in the last few years that I have taken it a little more seriously. I keep trying through writing to find new perspectives that reveal the layers of meaning that are always there, just below the surface of the obvious. I write because I enjoy it, and sometimes it helps me understand the world and myself better.
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