Red Sky at
Morning
For Larry
The sun turns crimson in the August sky.
Next door the young cock crows to welcome dawn,
and I discover death has passed me by.
I rise to greet the day before me. Why
am I still here when all my friends are gone?
The sun turns crimson in the August sky.
My mirror shows three new wrinkles when I try
to smooth my aging flesh, now weak and wan,
but death, still merciful, has passed me by.
Young Margaret dries her tears without a sigh.
The golden grove lies leafmeal on the lawn.
The sun turns crimson in the August sky.
My neighbor bales his hay.
The stacks grow high,
the harvest great, the doe still leads her fawn
across the meadow. Death
has passed me by.
Days are a blur.
Weeks, months, and now years fly
with quickened pace, so much of memory flown.
The sun turns crimson in the August sky,
while I lament that death has passed me by.
—Donnell Hunter
14 August 2012
