Friday, November 23, 2007

Yesterday was Thanksgiving

On the day after Thanksgiving in 1963, I wrote this sonnet:


And still we mourned. While chill November lay
upon your hill, we gathered close beside

our fires, and, as you had proclaimed a day
of thanks, gave thanks to God though you had died.

We thanked Him for Himself, and asked He lead
the s
ad man with the grey November face
who now must bear your load and rue the deed
that forced him to replace your summer grace.

Thanked God, that, through grief shared, our festal board
extended North to South; and that the
sent Brahms to comfort us, and Donne to warn,

sent Whitman's sprig of lilac; that a horde

of vari-colored races sat at last

in common sorrow. And still we mourn.

1 comment:

Marianne said...

I was only 9 at that time in '63 but it hit me hard.
Your poem is beautiful and covers so very much in the realm of emotion... thank you!