“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower”–Albert Camus
Lest the general levity of this blog give you a false impression of my worldview, let me state that sometimes life sucks. For the most part, I use humor and satire as a defense and an escape, a diversion if you will. This has been an incredibly bittersweet week; I have never experienced anything remotely like it. My last post was Freshly Pressed–perhaps the ultimate honor for a WordPress blogger. Yet while this was going on, three people I know died. They were an 82-year-old uncle whose death had been anticipated, a 58-year-old work colleague whose demise was an unexpected shock, and most tragically, the 29-year-old son of one of my poker buddies whose death from illness had been feared for some time.
If you will permit me then, a tribute to these lost souls with the only piece of poetry I ever wrote which I would deem publishable. It’s well over 35-years old–the sort of thing one could only write in one’s youth.
Words ©1976, 2012 Mark Sackler