November 2020
A poem by Michael Hawkes
Leaves are taking measured time
To burnish into gold,
Lengthened shadows creep across the wall,
And crisp cold air seeping through the gaps
All tell of summer turning now to fall
And old things passing on
And then around, perhaps.
Come spring, they say, the old will turn anew,
They promise blossoms drunk on morning dew
And all these seeds now falling
Will be bursting, sprouting up, they say,
Reaching out to touch the blue.
My story tells me it’s all true;
No matter what’s in store for me,
Whatever stage I’m going through,
As seedlings grow near parent trees
I’ll not be far from you.
For Aristazabal, born in Sointula, B.C. 1984
12/11/20 Hawkes
Feature image: Bureau of Land Management Oregon and Washington via StockPholio.net
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[/col][col size=”10″]Michael Hawkes was a cherished poet and contributor whose work enriched the pages of WestmountMag.ca with its sensitivity and depth. Over the years, he entrusted us with a rich body of poems, of which only a portion has yet been published. His passing leaves a profound void, but the poems still to come will continue inspire all who were moved by his voice.[/col][/row]