by Maralee Gerke

        “old age is a ceremony of losses”
                Donald Hall

The old barn crumbles bit by bit,
as he sits near the window in a comfortable chair.
Ruminating on the barn’s demise
and his old age.

Donald Hall was a man of the country,
New Hampshire the lens of his poetry.
Plain spoken and accessible,
his poems were a litany of loss.

Loss was his closest companion
even before old age slowed his gait,
his father gone, then grandparents,
mother and his beloved Jane.

His poems reflecting the loss
but always leaving room for small
acceptance and miracles of hope.
A rainbow over the fallen barn.


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