Keepsake, poem by Frederick Wilbur (MY PRIZED POSSESSION Poetry and Prose Series)

Silver Birch Press

wilburKeepsake
by Frederick Wilbur

for Robert Leonard Wilbur (1915-1998)

It rolled in his pocket until its polish
betrayed its origin. To most anyone
it is just an oval whitish stone—
not an egg exactly, not a skipper,
but who knows, a chip of Grecian marble
found pleading on an ancient battlefield,
or some chance chunk of mountain,
that stream-tumbled, could not sneak
by the souveniring of bankside lovers?

And to suppose the story, is to corrupt
his fondest memory perhaps, to slander
that kind man’s lasting bequest. I dare not
take on the burdens of his life, but keep it
in unchallenged belief for my own sake.

AUTHOR’S PHOTO CAPTION: “Where I found it.”

wilbur1NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Great men are humbled by small wonders. Art, indeed life, takes on meaning in the seemingly insignificant, in imperfection, in those things which we daily pass over. The stone described in this…

View original post 161 more words

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s