Farewell Doc

by

Phil Pochurek

In the middle of a crismon August sunset
The flocks of geese are growing
Into what will become a familiar autumn formation.
Pointing them south for the winter.
Pointing them to green pastures
As they fill the skies
With their cries of farewell. of so long.
I'm reminded time and again by this ritual
That their are only so many sunrises
So many sunsets in our short lives.
In our youth those numbers don't exist
And horizon is just another word.
It's not until we climb the mountains of life
That we realize they don't go on forever.
That as we reach each peak in our lives
The mountains become lower, become fewer,
And as our climbing days fade behind us
The horizon can clearly be seen
In the distance that lies ahead.
Each time one of us reaches that horizon and
Takes that final step toward their destiny
We gather in this familiar formation
To say good-bye, to say farwell
To someone who was a part of our life.
Who touched us in some way
With their spirit, with their soul.
Often they lead the way for us
Clearing a path so that we may see
For ourselves what lies ahead.
To make our own choices
Chose our own direction in life
Through the wisdom and aid of their experience.
Only over time can we look back
At the mountains we've climbed,the choices we've made
That we can appreciate and respect
The true value of such a gift.
So in this ,their final senset
We gather in this familiar formation
To bid farewell to Doc.
Our cries of love and gratitude
Join as one,in unison,to say thank you
To say farewell,to say so long to such a spirit.
On their way to green pastures and far horizons,forever.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at www.sunsetmuseek.com
by: Arnaldo Sejas
from: Necochea, Buenos Aires, Argentina

To visit all of Phil Pochurek's poems, click HERE

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