Whitman wrote a lot under oaks. He wondered how the tree could "utter joyous leaves without a friend, a lover, near." He knew he could not. That old snippet returned to me as I read your poem. Sometimes poems become memories as well as the other way around. Yours are memorable.
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Potent little poem...I wonder what kind of vows are exchanged in a cemetery...who is "friend"...good questions to ponder
ReplyDeleteA chapter in my life ... memories become poetry ... :)
DeleteWhitman wrote a lot under oaks. He wondered how the tree could "utter joyous leaves without a friend, a lover, near." He knew he could not. That old snippet returned to me as I read your poem. Sometimes poems become memories as well as the other way around. Yours are memorable.
ReplyDeleteSleepless nights sometimes bring nice surprises ... thank you so much for this lovely comment.
DeleteAn incredibly sweet essence is felt by the reader in this piece. As if I could actually feel your emotion. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, Bill. I love reading your comments.
DeleteIt is pleasant to think of such a place.
ReplyDeleteThank you ...
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