POEM: NOT YET ENDED

In the rustle of the leaves, a crispness of autumn air

You see and hear the goodbyes of summer

The gold and browns of oak and aspen herald

The not so welcome start of winter

A first chill of morning stirs the haunts of an old memory

Boldly proud, deathly sad.

From behind graying temples panoramas edge their way

through the years recalling

Wood smoke in the air, snowflakes, silent as light, drifting

in the mud ruts in a road never quite forgotten.

A holiday dinner in a miniature class room,

a foxhole for an easy chair with a cigar and friend

Aroma of turkey in the oven, again a holiday, pumpkin pie

And chestnut or powder of first snow

All ignite the flame of fraternity. When first it happened

a long time ago… but not for those who were there.

From the chill of that long ago winter came the Men from Chosin.

Beginning a shared experience … not yet ended.

RICK SEWARD

Coeur d’Alene