Today's poem is by Ben Howard
How well it imitates, this Irish word,
a meadow where the phlox have gone to seed
and all that was in bloom is now in states
of gray decline and imminent decay.
Forgive me if I savor for a while
that one untainted melancholy vowel
and relish as they pass those consonants
that call to mind the brittle milkweed pods,
the sturdy grass, the stalks as yet unbroken.
Copyright © 2015 Ben Howard All rights reserved
from Firewood and Ashes
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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