[trisham]

January

The days are short,
The sun a spark,
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.

Fat snowy footsteps
Track the floor.
Milk bottles burst
Outside the door.

The river is
A frozen place
Held still beneath
The trees of lace.

The sky is low.
The wind is gray.
The radiator
Purrs all day.

John Updike

Have a wonderful thankful Thursday, everyone!

[luvie]

Thankful for prayer!
Happy Thankful Thursday!

[left that other site]

Greetings...

from New England. It's FREEZING up here!

(((HUGS)))

ML/LTOS

[MEG33]

Thankful for a comfy warm house, a soft velvety throw,
and kitties at my feet.
Stay Warm FRiends!

[NicknamedBob]

I notice that the first four words of my poem and your posting of John Updike's poem are the same. I guess that's why I thought of it. Take a look:

Last Fall

The days are short, the wind has grown,
My community has now all flown.
I stare at emptiness all around,
And brownish carpeting on the ground.

When I was young, so long ago,
The days seemed endless, ever so.
I was so green. I’ve learned a lot.
So many shared my lofty spot.

We danced and twirled the time away,
Forgetful of the length of day,
With unseen music through the bright,
And whispers in the silent night.

Alone, I watch the neighborhood,
A stark and silent stretch of wood,
Tears sometimes dim the golden days,
Until the scene is filled with haze.

And only memory serves to fill,
The lonely times upon this hill.
They all have gone now, I remain,
A sad perspective is my gain.

They’ve departed, this way and that,
A graceful tip of an invisible hat,
And scattered to the winds they were,
Until only I am left to stir,

I twist to shed the Winter’s blast,
As I enjoy my being last,
And in the bleak and dismal scene,
I long for days when things were green.

One morning, I awake to find,
The world transformed while I was blind.
In darkness, change had come within the night,
The brown became a world of white!

In joy at last I chanced the breeze,
And danced among the stark black trees.
On stiffened fingertips, I race,
Across the snow without a trace.

All through the day I dance and twirl,
‘Til dizzy with the endless whirl,
I fetch up in a tent of green,
And on a sturdy trunk I lean.

The needle-leaves fresh fragrance sends,
With frozen tears the branch then bends.
I look at stars through crystal lens,
I settle down, and dream of friends.

NicknamedBob . . . . . October 19, 2006