Still Clinging

SONG OF FALLING LEAVES

The rustling of the silk is discontinued,
Dust drifts over the courtyard,
There is no sound of footfall, and the leaves
Scurry into heaps and lie still,
And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them:

A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.

Ezra Pound (1885 - 1972)
Adapted from Liu Ch'e (156 - 87 BC)

Thanks to poet and editor Lee Perron
for observing traditional Memorial Day* with this poem,
as a "Memorial for the Dear Ones We Have Lost"

When Lee's poem for the day appeared in my mailbox,
I had to share with him the above photo
that I had taken only hours earlier.

His response:
"A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.
Two of them in your life on the same day.
Thank you much for sending."

*P.S.
Re: Memorial Day Weekend

Nowadays it can have all kinds of militaristic political correctness attached to it for some -- and for others a timely occasion for a BBQ -- but I remember it as a day to visit the cemetery with my grandparents and decorate all the family graves.

In fact, we didn’t even call it “Memorial Day” when I was little. We called it "Decoration Day.” Some say this is a North / South distinction; but, no, we were Yankees, and we still said "Decoration Day." Sure, the Veterans’ graves got flags and there was a ceremony, but ALL the graves got flowers, or plantings to last the summer -- more like Mexican Day of the Dead