It’s been too long since I’ve posted a poem. Fortunatley, a friend sent Anne Porter’s “Music” along to spur me to reflection. We have, the author of Ecclesiastes confesses, been blessed – although it sometimes can feel like a curse – by a sense of the infinite that will...

The leaves are turning in our neck of the woods. There’s something so gloriously alive about the fall, and yet a tinge of sadness as well. Which is probably what put me in mind of Robert Frost’s familiar Nothing Gold Can Stay. I don’t know that Frost had this at all in mind, but it...