Raymond A. Foss Poems

Back to Poems Page

A hushed purple trumpet
hangs heavy on its vine,
held by the connections, the hooks
the nature of itself, wet from the rain
starting to shrivel and curl
long past his heyday, a tenor
with a sore throat, a bit out of tune
fighting for his swan song,
after the sun warms him, gives him
a final burst of breath, to blow
for all he’s worth, one last song
Mood Indigo no doubt,
Jazz funeral for the trumpeter
soon to fade away

September 29, 2006 16:14

Email This Poem to a Friend

Previous Poem | Next Poem

View Raymond A. Foss:  Poems | Quotes | Biography | Books

Copyright © 2006 - 2010 Famous Poets And Poems . com. All Rights Reserved.
The Poems and Quotes on this site are the property of their respective authors. All information has been
reproduced here for educational and informational purposes.