| General Poetry
posted April 4, 2019 |
A Quiet Tribute
Across Generations
In Central Park, November and blustery gray,
Sans the vendors--practical and savvy.
In the rain I cross from the Dakota,
Drawn without will
to Strawberry Fields.
Wet, shivering, I should turn back.
Head down, I reach the mosaic.
Fatigue fades, cold and rain ignored
as I view the single embedded word: "Imagine."
Tingling up my neck.
Alone, this day, among eight million in the City,
save one young woman--in her twenties,
trembling in cold slanting drizzle.
Arms crossed, shoulders hunched,
Well-dressed, business type.
Fashionable in her woolen ivy cap.
An eternity separates her from his heyday,
and tears mix freely
with rain
on the cold concrete homage at her feet.
It is my privilege to witness raw emotion.
We greet quietly,
Shared respect
for one who gave voice to peace.
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