The last English course I took was when I was in 11th grade in 1968. Now — half a century later — I'm the editor of this very special community journal of poetry. It's a great way to spend my retirement. Thanks to you.
The lilacs act as if there were nothing
In the world but their lavender selves. Their
Purple perfume paints the air with
Perfect selfishness. The daffodils do their
Dumb dances and blow their time-worn
Trumpets—as if their tired tunes were
A new music—never heard before—either
By ear or by wind. The willows wear their
Jaded veils and justify their dusty jewels—
As they have done for years and years of
Springtimes—openly oblivious to the fact
That now is forever and forever is final.
No doubt there is some truth in the garden—
But don't ask me anything about it.
©2016 Firestone Feinberg