Albert Kapikian: November

Earthworms exhaust themselves to inch
Below the frost. Frogs, turtles and turds
Stiffen in the grass. Above ground, bees flinch;
Only queens live through winter interred.

There is less food, less warmth, less light.
There isn't much you can do now
If you've wasted your soul. Hindsight
Cannot cajole the strict here and now.

Still, some roses grow hips. Acorns fall.
Persimmon and pawpaw drop fruit
Which eaten, digested, et al,
Scatter in the wind and find root.


This poem has appeared in the Summer 1999 issue of "The Ledge"