BEFORE I GO
give me time to learn
the neighborhood songbirds by name,
to notice the raindrops glistening
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on the tips of pine needles
after the next hard rain. Let me
sniff damp asphalt, red clay, loam.
Give me one more sunrise
by that willow on the Pamlico
with steam from my coffee
rising in homage
to that nip in the air. Please.
I’m not asking for Paris again, or even
Broadwy, although that would be nice.
I’ll even take another afternoon
with a teething, whiny baby
if You’ll let me simmer
one more pot of turkey soup.
Give me one more evening by the pond
listening to the croackers, peepers, twangers,
shrill romancers. Let me lie awake
under one more August sky
so I can lose count of shooting stars,
gaze contented, dazed,
until the light blurs into
another ruby morning.
MAUREEN RYAN GRIFFIN of Charlotte is the author of a new collection of poems, “Ten Thousand Cicadas Can’t Be Wrong,” from Charlotte’s Main Street Rag, $15 paper.