Still Life

 

Still Life

 

Scan the sky,

At night or early morn,

A million, million stars,

Burning brightly,

Whether counted or countless,

They are constant,

Enduring,

A requiem for the soul,

I find it, too,

At harvest time,

Summer meeting fall,

Friends and gardens,

Vines now full,

Larders laden with scarlet reds and forest greens,

A triumph for the eye,

And, in my cat,

Who cares not,

To play or pounce,

When I call her name,

Peace upon a pillow,

She opens one eye,

With sleepy gaze,

Without one word,

She whispers,

Sit like me,

Enjoy,

Like me,

A still life,

A still life.

 

Peter Lowell Paulson

September 3, 2020