George Freek - One Poem

 

WINTER AS A QUESTION 

- After Tu Fu

 

Summer’s flowers are gone.

All that is left are

their decaying remains.

The trees are now bare.

I can hardly remember

when the leaves were there.

In the garden an empty hammock,

where my wife used to lie,

creaks in a bitter wind,

under a ghostly sky.

Like a sneak thief,

Winter now approaches.

I talk to my elderly cat,

to the moon and the stars.

As is their way,

they have nothing to say.

I think of the aroma of roses,

on this icy winter day,

but I’m unable to make it stay.

George Freek's poetry has recently appeared in The Stockholm Review of Literature; A New Ulster; Miller's Pond; The Whimsical Poet; and Dreich Poetry.