Poetry
By Ryan Pohlkamp
Spring
An emerald plume in a desolate vale
Alone and young, cold and frail.
A jagged land of the grotesque
A landscape resembling the fields of Death.
A few weeks more and the earth is new.
A sweetness fills the morning dew.
The feathered trumpets return to their place and sing.
Ushering in the months of Spring.
The most precious gift given to all.
I pray that you shall answer the call.
Summer
Stillness consumes the sweltering arboreal hall.
An errant beam streaks the leafy shawl.
A tumultuous city be-stilled by a leaden haze.
Its denizens ensnared in a lustful daze.
Asleep in the shade, lying in the den,
To do anything else seems a sin.
The Sirens of Summer lull the world to sleep.
We follow the bait until we’re too deep.
Awaken! Beware the Songs of Summer!
These days are too precious to loaf and lumber!
Fall
Amidst the sea of green, a conflagration consumes the hill.
From the heavens the rustling flames begin to spill.
Without smoke nor heat, it’s tendrils spread wide.
Bright and intense yet gently abides.
A Sacred Flame, a Holy Thing,
A vivacious requiem for the Sons of Spring.
After, a silent grave draped in a hoary pall.
Nothing more, such is Fall.
A few months a year to flower and thrive.
Then all must reach an inevitable demise.
So ‘Tis better to burn out, I say to you.
Just as the oak and the dogwood too.
Winter
Bleak and gloomy, a frozen sheet over barren lands,
As lifeless and cold as a stretch of sand.
The earth is asleep, gone down to rest.
A life once lived has passed its crest.
Days once long and full of heat,
Are now so short, so cold, so meek.
Distant memories are all that remain.
There to bear fruit, uphold, or profane.
All but some reach Winter’s untimely end.
It is up to you to begin again.
Ryan Pohlkamp is a fourth-year medical student who loves to explore the beauty of nature.