by Linda Pastan

Ash

Article Tools

sponsored by:

	E-mail Article
	Printer Format

We fall l­ike leaves,
anonymous as snow,
like ash, like weeds
under some farmer’s hoe.

We fear the dark
and watch the light recede.
We know death smiles
on every child conceived.

The moon goes on,
relentless in the sky;
in cold complicity,
the stars comply.

Remember me.
(How did it grow so late?)
Anonymous,
I turn the page. I wait.

Article Tools sponsored by:

E-mail Article Printer Format

Digg del.icio.us

reddit What's this?

What do you think? Discuss this article in Post & Riposte.

Subscribe to our e-mail newsletter.

Search