The Seasons of Death

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Death comes to gather up in seasons all

That they bring forth, the cherry blossom blown

Wide pink on spreading limbs and then the fall

Of petals.  These descend without a groan.

In summer death rejoices in the heat

At Gettysburg, July the third.  The death

Of wildebeests in droves is all too neat

In Serengetti crocodiles’ vile breath.

In autumn death becomes triumphant like

A Caesar bragging slaves and victims to

Bloodthirstiness, or Dracula’s red spike

In leaves for iPhone camera lens to view.

  Yet winter is the land of emperor cold

    And seas of icebergs as its blizzards scold.

© Phillip Whidden