The End of Summer

What was it? My brother, long dead

Was that very dragonfly, this slim branch

Set against the house

And summer night

Was Valhalla, twin William proud

Among ghosts

No wonder my heart grows sore

As autumn comes

All true spirits rest when snow flies

And I will have to talk to myself now

Days grow short

S.K.

Author: stevekuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by stevekuusisto