Patrick Walsh: ‘Seasonal Rhetoric’

Seasonal Rhetoric

Why should my sleeve be wet with crying
When overhead, winter geese are flying?

How can I feign to lie down in my grave
With the frost reminding me I’m alive?

Where do I take my blackest mood
When ducks cross my path in a helpless brood?

And when is a man allowed time for his pain—
The smell of mayflowers again!

On whom do you pin the guilt
For the way a rainbow is built?

How can I wrestle the nagging “why”
When the mangle of summer distracts the eye?

What sense felling a few for a pyre;
The yews already burn orange like fire.

Who stays convinced of the heart’s desolation
Confronted with all these damned invitations!

Patrick Walsh

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