Going Dust

This is my favorite poem.  It was in Yankee magazine years ago.  Apparently Yankee is my go-to source for poetry...I still remember a phrase from one poem, that I think, was about early spring...the sun picks at scabs of snow...


This one captures the beauty of this time of year so perfectly.  Enjoy.

GOING DUST

This is mine, this calm and modest
      twilight
When night begins early to filter
      between
The flaps of gray sky and the
       evergreen
Mocks the maple.  The kaleidscope
       plight
Of leaves, the cold end of summer
        roses, blight
On the garden that comes in the
       unseen
Hours of frost, to others, these things
       may mean
Sorrow:  to me, they are joy and joy
       outright.
I hope to die in such young November
 as this and be laid to rest under just
Such a sky, to finally, peacefully lie
In the scent of apples that will
        remember
How I gazed on them once, when
       going dust
Was a dream that living could not
       mortify.

-Paul Smithers, Cottontown, TN