A mere word makes the theme
As a sky dictates a poet’s night
With brief notes of the fireflies
And their light flickers briefly
And blades sway by the wind.

The night is obituary of a poet
While the blades sway mildly
In a gentle nod to its brievity.
A transience flickers as words.

Words are his fireflies settled
On trees moth-eaten by night
And blades sway by the night
That turns brevity of fireflies
Into the poet’s obituary night.

(Homage to Charles Tomlinson ,a great poet and translator ,who died last week at the age of 88)

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