It's been a while since we've had a poem and being reminded while searching the online library catalogue for books from my reading list - and not finding any of the poetry ones - I went to my own often-ignored stack to drag one out.
Avoiding, this time, a dry biography on this Canadian poet I've linked to
this article which tells an interesting story of a shy and reclusive banker.
Although, if you really insist on the dry biography type thing, I suppose I must supply
that as well.
I think he's the first one, here, who's still alive.
All This Slow Afternoon
All this slow afternoon
the May winds blowing
honey of the lilacs,
sounds of waves washing
through the highest branches
of my poplar tree.
Enough in such hours
to be simply alive;
I will take death tomorrow
without bitterness.
Today all I ask
is to be left alone
in the wind
in the sunshine
with the honey of lilacs
down the garden;
to fall asleep tired
of small birds' gossip,
of so much greeness
pushed behind my eyes.
Raymond Souster
Article originally appeared on if you're not a penguin...shut it (http://www.airbornepathojen.com/).
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