"Untitled"

When I posted “Evolution” last week I said that I was doing so because I hadn’t gotten permission yet to post the poem I wanted to use. I got said permission yesterday, and was going to use the poem next month, but it seems to be much more of an October poem, so I’m going to go ahead and share it with you now.

Which means I’m actually going to post three poems this month, because I have a good one for the Friday before Hallowe’en.

So without further ado, here’s an untitled poem written in 1968 by my two-bit senior chief off the Oly.

Woodsmoke, leaves of golden brown
And shades that painters never match,
Mornings clear and bittersweet,
Days in quiet reverie
In woods that hold my secrets dear
As I hold theirs.
For years I've moved from fall to fall
Finding quiet joy in being thus alone.
I've walked a different road, outcast by choice,
Not always truly so, but so I made myself believe.
Outcast in truth perhaps, by those who worship only Summer.
Those who never knew the bittersweet of
Woodsmoke, leaves of golden brown
And shades that painters never match.

JWL -68-

I don’t normally care for poetry with neither rhyme nor metre, but this is my all-time second-favourite poem.

And someday I’ll get around to explaining that “two-bit senior chief” crack....