Kenneth Patchen
IT IS THE HOUR
A sigh is little altered
Beside the slow oak;
As the rustling fingers
Of the sun
Stir through the silvery ash
That begins to collect on the forest floor.
It is the hour
When the day seems to die
In our arms;
And we have not done
Much that was beautiful.
[from: THERE’S LOVE ALL DAY, Hallmark Editions, 1970]
This little book by K>P> always comes as a surprise mostly because it came from Hallmark and I didn’t expect it. It contains some excellent poetry and is worth having.
Yup, when Norb cares enough to send us the very best….
Beautiful and perfect. It is often my regret at the end of a day…more beauty, more beauty!