To A Teacher/Poet Named Fred
i know Fred
and i remember him
he always wrote
about the rain
there was no flood in
his rain
i mean
there is no rage or anger
in him
just the gentle
shower of rain
a soft spoken kind
of rain
a patient shower
caressing fine sands
on many dark nights
when he was always alone
watching those stars
those silent stars
he loved loneliness
and loneliness loved him
he did not live
that long
he died
at forty
the rain remembered him
and in his grave
that day when he was buried
the rain, as gentle as
the early morning wind
fine feathers cotton soft
sings the last
hymn for him
it was sad & it was lonely
the flowers and
the butterflies all sighed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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