“a sprinkling of leaves / washes the grave with silvery tears / and polishes a gun”

[larryhammer]

For Poetry Monday:

When Day Is Done, Iain Crichton Smith

Sorrow remembers us when day is done.
It sits in its old chair gently rocking
and singing tenderly in the evening.
It welcomes us home again after the day.
It is so old in its black silken dress,
its stick beside it carved with legends.
It tells its stories over and over again.
After a while we have to stop listening.


A 20th century Scottish poet who wrote in both English and Gaelic. I haven’t tracked down when this was written.

---L.

Subject quote from Canticle, Paul Simon feat. Art Garfunkel on “Scarborough Fair”.

Comments

[conuly]

Oh, that's lovely if, naturally, sad.

[larryhammer]

This one surprised me. Powerful stuff.

[adore]

This is actually comforting. That last line, whew.

[larryhammer]

Yeah.

[cmcmck]

I was unfamiliar with this one although I have heard of the poet so thanks!

[larryhammer]

De nada!

[sunlit_stone]

Ooooh. Slash, oof.

[larryhammer]

Yeah.