November
by John Updike
The stripped and shapely
Maple grieves
The ghosts of her
Departed leaves.
The ground is hard,
As hard as stone.
The year is old,
The birds are flown.
And yet the world,
In its distress,
Displays a certain
Loveliness–
The beauty of
The bone. Tall God
Must see our souls
This way, and nod.
Give thanks: we do,
Each in his place
Around the table
During grace.
November, 2012
© Janet Kopito
2 comments
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November 23, 2012 at 4:48 pm
David Kanigan
Doesn’t realize Updike “did” poetry. And master craftsman at this trade too….thanks for sharing Jeff.
November 24, 2012 at 7:46 am
lazarusdodge
Something new to both of us then! Didn’t know it myself…but a nice discovery…
– J.