Season’s End by George Freek


A black cloud stumbles
over day’s last light,
frozen like a sliver of ice.
Cold weather kills
even young men’s desires.
But I’ve made peace
with this room in which I live,
where shadows sit
like old men sipping tea,
watching leaves fall
from ancient trees.
I have a garden.
It now lies under snow.
But in my mind’s eye
I see daffodils,
straining toward the sky,
and I see bees,
rushing to gather nectar,
before the last flowers die.


George Freek is a poet/playwright living in Belvidere, IL. His poetry has recently appeared in ‘The Cape Rock’; ‘Limestone Journal’; ‘Trade West Review’; ‘The Sentinel Poetry Quarterly’; and ‘The Sisyphus Quarterly’. His plays are published by Playscripts, Inc.; Lazy Bee Scripts; and Off The Wall Plays.