Walking Alone (After Li Po)
By George Freek
Dead leaves fall at my feet,
As I walk the lake’s edge.
The branches seem to spin
like the hands of
a malfunctioning clock.
Like those falling leaves
My thoughts are disordered.
As iof he were a mortician
measuring for a pall,
a raven circles over my head.
Waves moan, breaking
against the shore’s stones.
That solitary raven
is my only companion.
He won’t go away.
He won’t leave me alone.
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