limbs of the fallen
upon a funeral pyre
failed offerings to a careless sun
the sacred forest lies in ruin
trilliums no more to flower
silence mocks the land
no songbirds in the bower
spires from the wreckage
rise verdant and aflame
magenta resurrection
wild and untamed

The older I get,
  the more important words become

The shorter the days,
  the deeper the streams that run

With time closing in,
  I reach for the poems and rhymes

Into the twilight,
—for one last miraculous line

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

Love is a dish best served cold.
Or should that  be revenge?
Often they're interchangeable,
As the outcome is similar.
It's wise to fear both,
Both unexpected
And most anticipated... and dreaded.
They come out of the blue.
I excel at neither,
Though I keep my platter
On a low shelf.