From the Garden of Afternoon

Leisurely and alone,

I was wandering in a palace garden.

Flowers were completely gone,

But deep green

Summer leaves were fully grown,

And on each branch

Small birds were all the way chirping:

Seemingly for me a perfect afternoon

To be lost in poem-reciting!

Suddenly a wind arose,

When a human voice came to my ear,

Saying low yet rather vivid:

It's me, from a park now;

Well, not much ill,

And thank God, walking around still;

Just called to get an old boy's number,

You might have,

To know if that 'un

Perhaps stays somewhere around.


The voice then stopped 

Coming any more,

And the birds too

Chirped no more.


I just dropped the book,

And turned my vague eyes

Towards a farthest end.

In the air above

I only found

One white round hole--


No clouds around,

Floating alone,

Like the heart of mine,

A very empty afternoon.



◄ Arrows of Rain

The Birth of Octave ►


No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message