October Arrives | George Freek

(After Li Po)

I gaze out my frozen window.
I look at my unmade bed.
The sun’s rays are weak.
Last month I saw flowers,
now it’s ice instead.
A chilling breeze
stirs a few pathetic leaves. 
The moon is a ball of lead,
suspended in a sterile sky,
silent and dead.
I gaze at distant stars,
lost in an infinite sky.
I feel the approaching cold.
I’ve just turned sixty-five.
I don’t need to be told.
Self-pity is not
an exclusive priviledge of the old.

George Freek’s poetry appears in numerous Journals and Reviews. His poem “Written At Blue Lake” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. His poem “Enigmatic Variations” was also recently nominated for Best of the Net. His collection “Melancholia” is published by Red Wolf Editions.