Once before I've heard this
anguished cry
A long-drawn note of many-lettered woe,
The great open beak straining
against the roar of raging surf;
Had I seen the ghosts of this place
They would dance their victory dance;
Glorious vale
Cup, chalice,
Basin;
Tonight on the veranda
I behold
The crystalline hilltops
Sublimate into an avalanche
Of snowflakes, in turn
Dissolving into the haze
Of silent mists;
Some souls pass away so quietly that not even the suspiration of their fleeting wings
is heard, or known, to us, among so many other activities, so many other things;
so, this was one such soul, that breathed its last, effortlessly and without pain,
melting away into the unknown, rising to the snowy Himalayan heights, shining forth beyond these dusty plains;
They stand together
The twin stalks
In my backyard,
Sometimes reminders
Of some things not done,
Some weeds not plucked
When it was time to do so;