Wordsworth wrote an endless poem in blank verse on” the growth of a poet’s mind.” I shall attempt a more modest feat for a more distracted age: a blog, “Things which a Lifetime of Trying to Be a Poet has Taught Me.”
One of the fringe benefits of being back in Georgia was that Autumn could now be properly enjoyed—and properly anticipated—again.
The first fain hint that Fall is coming soon
(It’s in the evening that you mostly feel it,
Or early morning, for the sun by noon
Will be reminding you that it’s still summer)
Is not the leaves. Much as they were in June,
You still can see them in their best green raiment.
A barely perceptible sharpness in the moon,
An unexplained desire to breathe more deeply,
An unheard modulation in the tune
The wind sings on its way down from the mountains:
Not singly, but yet somehow in their blending,
They whisper of another summer’s ending.
Remember: for more poetry like this, go to https://www.createspace.com/3562314 and order Stars Through the Clouds! Also look for Reflections from Plato’s Cave, Williams’ newest book from Lantern Hollow Press: Evangelical essays in pursuit of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty. https://www.createspace.com/3767346.
Donald T. Williams, PhD