|Autumn Sky Poetry - Number 3|
At the end of its neck arched in rigor mortis pose,
With my son, nine years old, we saw its white flags
There was no shepherd, no electric fence, no fold
I turned away toward the voice of my wife calling us
Robin Yim lives in Oregon where he works as the pastor for two United Methodist congregations. He's been writing poetry since high school and finds that he turns to writing poetry at various times in his life to locate himself: who he's becoming, where he's going, where he's been. This is a part of his beginning-of-middle-age poetry. Not a crisis, but a call of sorts.
© 2006 Robin Yim