(Now, I know I’ve not written here in awhile, and that I ought to. I will soon. But for now – I was in the backyard earlier and thought so fondly of this poem. Please enjoy, and know there will be more news from the urban wild soon.)
Rainer Maria Rilke
Just like the last green in a colour pot
So are these leaves, withered and wrecked
Behind the flower umbels, which reflect
A hue of blue only, more they do not.
Reflections are tear-stained, inaccurate,
As if they were about to cease,
And like old blue notepaper sheets
They wear some yellow, grey and violet,
Washed-out like on a children’s apron,
Outworn and now no more in use:
We contemplate a small life’s short duration.
But suddenly some new blue seemingly is seen
In just one umbel, and we muse
Over a moving blue delighting in the green.
(Thanks to http://docsouth.unc.edu/ for the image.)