Monday, February 8, 2010

Peaceful Passing

Of the plum tree
Thick snow
On the branches
A few wisps of steam rise
As a warm wind
The first of the season
Carries the sound of ice cracking
Through her still closed window
The light of the first quarter moon
And the glow of the angel beside her
Lights a path in the land of dreams
A land where time ebbs and flows like the tides
Where all those she had loved wait patiently for her
As her last few breaths quietly subside


Dan Gurney said...

Wow. I love this poem. The form, 100 friends, is particularly well-suited to the subject.

I'm not sure, do you have a post explaining the form on this blog? I noticed that if you have one it's not (for now) included in the label 100 Friends link on the right, there. An essay explaining the form would be wonderful.

Jim714 said...

Hi Dan; I haven't posted the prosody of 100 Friends, but plan to do so in the near future.

Thanks for the kind compliments and support,