A deep bow, and a loud call! I liked the curves of the gulls
with the curve of the building. I thought they would fly
before I got the picture and then one bowed!
All things come to an end;
small calves in Arkansas,
the bend of the muddy river.
Do all things come to an end?
No, they go on forever.
They go on forever, the swamp,
the vine-choked cypress, the oaks
rattling last year's leaves,
the thump of the rails, the kite,
the still white stilted heron.
All things come to an end,
the red clay bank, the spread hawk,
the bodies riding this train,
the stalled truck, pale sunlight, the talk,
the talk goes on forever,
the wide dry field of geese,
a man stopped near his porch,
to watch. Release, release;
between cold death and a fever,
send what you will, I will listen.
All things come to an end.
No they go on forever.
Ruth Stone (1915-2011)
The Oxford Book of American Poetry;
edited by David Lehman, page 623.
Do read this short article in Wikipedia about Ruth Stone.
This fine poem has a train-like rhythm and makes excellent use of repetition.