Grieve Not

© 2012 Loren Zemlicka

 

 

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Grieve not that winter masks the yet quick earth,

Nor still that summer walks the hills no more;

That fickle spring has doffed the plaid she wore

To swathe herself in napkins till rebirth.

 

These buddings, flowerings, are nothing worth;

This ermine cloud stretched firm across the lakes

Will presently be shattered into flakes;

Then, starveling world, be subject to my mirth.

 

I know that faithful swift mortality

Subscribes to nothing longer than a day;

All beauty signals imminent decay;

And painted wreckage cumbers land and sea.

 

I laugh to hear a sniveling wise one say,

“Some winnowed self escapes this reckless way.”

 

- Walter Clyde Curry, "Grieve Not"

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Taken on December 21, 2010