A poem I seem to post around this time of year, mainly because it captures a moment in time, and I hadn’t written anything to surpass it in its feeling yet.




The crocus is in focus
But the moonflowers have deflated
Not for 6 more months now
Will we again be so elated

For winter’s at our doorstep
When bears will sleep in caverns
And men will watch their football games
In their local corner taverns

The cold winds will bite through us
Like a scythe that knows no mercy
And bury us all in snow
With its January flurries

But for now we must enjoy
Dappled sunlight on the grass
And savor sweet autumnal smells
Before the season runs out of gas

The crunching of the leaves
Beneath our softened steps
Reminds us of the glory
Of summer’s bitter sweet death.
                             — THOMAS GORMAN

Copyright (C) 2012, 2016


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