When Passing By Yeats’s Grave (on the Ides of March)

m. f. nagel

 

Cast a  cold eye on life

On death,

Horseman pass by.

Yeats’ epitaph.

 

When passing by Yeats’s grave

On the ides of March

Where the seven ancient forests join.

 

I saw

The first patch of brown

Rise

Rise

From its winterself.

 

When passing by

Yeats’s grave

I saw

The four horsemen of the apocalypse.

 

A monument

all

Grey leaf and stick

With which

The summer birds Will build their nests.

 

When passing by Yeats’s grave

 on the ides of March

 

***

m.f. nagel was born in anchorage Alaska, her love of poetry is a gift shared, from her Athabaskan and Eyak heritage. m.f. now lives and writes near the banks of the Matanuska river in the Palmer Butte, Alaska, where the moose, wild dog~roses and salmonberries provide unending joy and inspiration.