Deborah

You are old now, Deborah,
the sun that would not set,
the small rare face
that brought forth
many a suitor's tear
is gone

a dream.

You stir the pulse
no longer in the long
nights of sleep;
you wake the heart's
surge no more.

I see you now,
elegant and old,
queen of autumn,
a queen bereft,
your kingdom abandoned,
a forgotten name, a dead leaf.

Powerless and desolate,
retiring, withdrawing, retreating,
queen of a season only,
tiny
among the massive shadows
of the west
like a rose at evening

you shut.   

 

 

About the Author: Jack D. Harvey’s poetry has appeared in Scrivener, Mind In Motion, The Comstock Review, The Antioch Review, Bay Area Poets’ Coalition, The University of Texas Review, The Beloit Poetry Journal and a number of other on-line and in print poetry magazines over the years. 

The author has been writing poetry since he was sixteen and lives in a small town near Albany, N.Y. He was born and worked in upstate New York. He is retired from doing whatever he was doing before he retired.