The Years, My Friend
The years, my friend, have not been kind
upon your marble face —
I hear the river songs
tinkle with the cymbals,
I see your eyes shrivel
like unpicked grapes on the vine,
your mouth a wounded cherry
pecked by restless robins.
Take my hand, my friend,
let us go to the calling fields
that blaze with diamonds
under the eternal skies,
to the orchards in the midst of winter,
where leafless branches stand dauntless
in the endless cold,
telling jubilant tales
in the blizzard of their days —
Hearken to the legends
of root, of bud, of sun,
and to the promise
(believe the promise)
that warmth and springtime
will return,
(they always return)
once again.
by D. G. Vachal © 2013, 2025
*** Photography by Farhad
lilies, sparrows and grass 
Beautiful, dear Dee, as always. Loved so much of it… especially “that blaze with diamonds
under the eternal skies,” and “the blizzard of their days”. Such graphic imagery of the cherry mouth… all so rich. What a gift you have in how you see the world!
Thank you so much, dear Ellen, I am humbled by your comment! I am so glad the “graphic imagery” of the words in this poem resonated with you! 🙏 🩷
❤️🙏🏽
Poignant and sincere.
Thank you so much, Dawn.
Whichever prompted which, in the image and the verse there is wondrous mutuality. Both and together offer marvel.
Thank you so much, it makes me glad that you see the mutuality in the image and the verse, and together both offer marvel. What a humbling compliment! Blessings!