The Gold Lily in  General   

As I perceive
I am dying now and know
I will not speak again, will not
survive the earth, be summoned
out of it again, not
a flower yet, a spine only, raw dirt
catching my ribs, I call you,
father and master: all around,
my companions are failing, thinking
you do not see. How
can they know you see
unless you save us?
In the summer twilight, are you
close enough to hear
your child's terror? Or
are you not my father,
you who raised me?

By Louise Gluck

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Other poems by Louise Gluck:

• A Fantasy
• All Hallows
• April
• Cana
• Castile
• Celestial Music
• Confession
• Early Darkness
• Elms
• First Memory
• Horse
• Labor Day
• Love Poem
• Lullaby
• Matins
• Midnight
• Nostos
• Parable Of The Dove
• Parousia
• Poem
• Portrait
• Retreating Wind
• Saints
• Siren
• Snow
• Snowdrops
• Summer
• The Butterfly
• The Fear Of Burial
• The Garden
• The Gold Lily
• The Pond
• The Red Poppy
• The Silver Lily
• The Triumph Of Achilles
• The Untrustworthy Speaker
• The White Lilies
• The Wild Iris
• The Wish
• Vespers
• Widows