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Wooden Bed

A Bitter November Night

(After Mei Yao Chen)

The impermanence of life saddens the poet. The silent moon, the dead leaves, the clouds floating in pairs, all remind him of the loss of his beloved companion and wife.

As always, the moon is
silent. In its dim light,
dead leaves are falling.
I stare at mysteries in the air.
Clouds drift in pairs.
They might be lovers
going anywhere.
In the darkness I hear
the river flowing,
and I feel a sudden chill.
It will soon be snowing.
Like life and like people,
winters come and go.
I stare at my empty bed.
It’s now been a year,
that my wife’s been dead.

A Bitter November Night: Welcome
Writing with Pen

George Freek is a poet/playwright living in Illinois. His poems appear in numerous Poetry Journals and Reviews. His poem 'Written At Blue Lake' was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize. His plays are published by Playscripts; Blue Moon Plays and Off The Wall Plays.

A Bitter November Night: Text
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