I live in a world where vehicles crowd
Each other in unending race;
Streetlights outshine the stars at night
And smog smothers the young moon’s face;
The air is heavy with the scent of fumes
Even at night the din rarely dies;
Yet I find my way in this rush of life
Where myriads of sound from the city rise.
And sometimes they ask me, do you remember
The elms in the winter night?
The falling of snowflakes in the muffled dusk
And the way they dance in the light?
Or the way the mountains look in the rain
When cat-footed and gray comes the mist,
And one by one the lights blink on
Solitary beacons, alone, fog-kissed.
No, I have not forgotten, and the memory
Comes quick and gold and keen,
And I know when wind shakes the elms with snow
For I feel a stirring, a glad unseen;
And when the mist comes creeping up the mountainside
And the lights gleam on, a pain,
A beautiful pain, chokes, and I can forget
Only as the wind can forget the rain.
October 3 (for Creative Writing class)
featured photo credit: pixabay.com