October 24th, 2013

…And the Old Things Go, Not One Lasts

Here’s one of the poems I enjoy dragging out of the back of my head when autumn has firmly taken hold. Last year’s cord of wood has seasoned well through the generous summer we had on Vashon, so I’ll probably make the year’s first fire in the fireplace tomorrow night.

I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.

–Carl Sandburg

Opening photo by Jim Cole Franconia, New Hampshire. Thursday, Oct. 1, 2009


1 Response to '…And the Old Things Go, Not One Lasts'
Filed Under: Poetry
Bookmark and Share
  • Wonder Bright

    Oh! My heart! …I saw the Taj Mahal last year. I was utterly unprepared for it. It was dawn and in that shifting light the monument changed her visage from moment to moment, quickening in the light and never still. It’s a mausoleum, of course, a testament to love lost, and it’s the beauty of it, the temporal shifting beauty of it which drives the point home. Nothing stays, everything changes. Beauty brings us closer to our Gods, our true nature, but trying to hang onto it is futile. There’s a Venus Between Us, Frederick! Thanks for the reminder XO