By the Side of the Vineyard – A Poem
To the collective critic.
The critic lay dying by the side of an old vineyard. He was once mighty in appearance.
Passersby shook their heads, lowered their eyes.The boys showed no respect, muttered evil under their breath, could not be bothered to care. The old men would pause, attempt to offer assistance, but they too were weak, too faded to offer anything more than a kind word, a remembrance of better times.
The critic lay dying by the side of an old publication. He was once mighty in voice.
Those who hurried passed had mostly forgotten the words or never known them at all. A few, still lucid in their recollection, still vibrant in their affection called to mind the sayings that had beckoned them to follow. These eternal notes, written on paper, written in fields, etched in the memory of vintages.
The critic lay dying by the side of an old legacy. He was once mighty in honor.
In dust he lay, in memory of all that had passed him, in love, in hate, in compliments, in accomplishment. On his side, facing west, facing the diminished sun. In the earth he carved with a vine, “REMEMBER ME,” and then, he expired. … Continue Reading