The Time of Loss

CLICK HERE TO HEAR AUTHOR READ

Goodbye old friend,

it's not just us:

It's the time of loss.

The tree I pruned last spring 

has shed all its leaves,

the lawn underneath dotted 

brown and wet.

The first snow fell

two weeks ago

on Remembrance Day

when we gently dropped 

red poppies

on the tomb

of the unknown soldier 

the snow is melting,

even as the mercury 

plummets;

The night comes sooner,

the day recedes faster.

The slippery politicians lie

and lie

about prices

coming down,

as the bread lines,

the tent cities,

and picket lines grow

like ground frost,

the situation is grave,

very grave,

democracy teeters -

and it's not just here,

they lie 

about peace

on distant shores, 

as bombs reverberate,

buildings crumble,

and helmeted crews 

scour the mounds,

count the dead

lying somewhere inside 

crypts of rubble.