Poem 98: On a child leaving home

All shall know a time of knowing raindrops on the window.
Storm clouds break apart, bestowing raindrops on the window.

Woven branches of a boulder river’s plaited pattern
echo tangled paths of flowing raindrops on the window.

No sunshine in this early morning’s churlish rooster’s call.
Stay in bed! The cock’rel’s crowing “Raindrops on the window!”

Some folk imbibe a fear-filled brew, and full of sad dismay,
dread the storm, dislike the growing raindrops on the window.

The cellist plays a longing air of now-gone, buoyant years,
enthralled in thought, rapt in bowing raindrops on the window.

Bruce knows the time has come for you to step from where you grew.
Blurred sight hides your pathway going. Raindrops on the window.

Listen to this poem being read HERE!

14 thoughts on “Poem 98: On a child leaving home

      1. badfinger20 (Max)

        When I hear poems read..certain lines stick with me “echo tangled paths of flowing raindrops on the window.”…that is a great line Bruce.

        Liked by 1 person

  1. umashankar

    The gathering melancholy of the stanzas, raindrop fed imagery and symbols that this ghazal accumulates as it moves, nimble and subtle in its measures steps, ample and complete in impact like a haunting gong, wrung my heart in the conclusion.

    A perfect piece from someone who is a Jack of none, Master of all. The broken Mike adds to the aura of the composition as it’s delivered from the constraints of the pixels on a screen.

    Liked by 1 person


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