Celebrations of the Stoic Mind

Late morning assails
the sleepy day
with brilliant clouds
in ashen veils
and cigarettes
which go smoldering away.
 
Our yard
with this house
is a forest kept
on a hill
for which the heroes wept
and with light
gone painted
many a moon's
sweet dreaming
by my sweet artist wife
with her June colors
which in subtlety replete our art.
 
But now the bard
with his aching pill
of memories
in quietude
and his February's
bleak recall
 
looks out on ashen fields of gray
and bursts with that secret
the gods assay
and the same cool meaning
of his heart
...the essence
after all!