December 2006  

Late Morning Walk    ©    by    Ann Campanella
 

Azure sky,
clouds pile up,
spill across the expanse
like snowdrifts melting.
The path I walk is damp,
thawing from a night of frost.
The trees have shed
their leaves, the few
remaining sputter and cough
like sickly old men
as the wind rattles through them.
I see bare branches
stretching like steeples,
birds rustle the grass,
take sudden flight.
The breeze nips my face,
lifts the hair from my collar,
sun fingers my brow.

Death is everywhere--
dried leaves caught
in the azalea bushes, summer
annuals cascading limply
over their pots, stalks of
jewelweed crosshatch like hay
by the creek, the pasture
is low and yellowing.

Still the trees lift
their branches skyward
like a chorus: Death is near.
Death is near. Alleluia!

Previously published in the North Carolina Poetry Society's
Pinesong: Awards 2006. Used with the poet's permission.
NOTICE: The copyright © for this poem belongs to the poet.