Mere Footprints

Footprints in snow –
Those who have gone before me.
Now my footprints –
For those who come after.

Generation after generation,
Footprints in snow…
Mere footprints.

But, with time’s melting,
Even this memory erased,
Generation after generation.

So to what end…
These footprints?

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

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Timing Us

The sea laps upon the shore
Little waves are no more.
While time winds its wily way,
We are only made of clay.

Life?  Life a gift unique,
But over in a blink.
Our prospects, very bleak, sink,
As the waves galore
Continue on ever more.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

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November Rose

 

You see one now and then –
A November rose with all its pedals still blazing in full glory.
It stands out against the dank and dreary ground
Stark as a beacon in the night.
It’s nature’s graceful last hurrah
Against the rising tide of time.
So, if you happen to chance upon one,
Tarry a while, and gaze upon its splendor
To appreciate the fleeting tragedy
Of this delicate, tremulous last stand,
For it is not unlike your own.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

Sepia Flowers

My Story

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Not Even A Whisper

First Love
First Love

Vulnerable alone.

So the mind casts back in time
And finds you.

But there is no face,
And no hand,
No heart.

What I would do
For a few moments together…
Just a few.

What would I say?
I miss you, oh, I miss you so – yes.

I miss the we that we were,
Once upon a time…
Stars in my eyes.

I would, yes I would,
Cling to those moments
Before they slip away.

But there are no moments,
Flown long ago…
Not even a whisper.

Vulnerable alone.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

My Story

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