Poetry

Small persimmons, squashed and tangy sweet

Among dried leaves, in chill vanilla air,

Arrest us on our way along the street

Leading to Maymont grounds. Most trees are bare.

Grandpa, who took us by the hand

To paradise, we beseech you, bring,

In those transparent bottles from so long ago

Filled with water from the Byrd Park spring,

Bring us your blessing, you who know,

Perhaps, what lies beyond that autumn park,

That long-lost and remembered southern land,

As we prepare to leave-”for it grows dark-”

Guide us, grandpa, take us by the hand.

”Robert Greer Cohn

Next
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE

JD Vance States the Obvious About Ordo Amoris

James Orr

We are living, it scarcely needs saying, in unpredictable times. But no one could have imagined that…

Thinking Twice About Re-Enchantment

Peter J. Leithart

Since the Enlightenment and the scientific revolution, the story goes, we’ve lived more and more in a…

The Bible Throughout the Ages

Mark Bauerlein

The latest installment of an ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein. Bruce Gordon joins in…