poem 344 of a poem a day for 2012

roaming the gloaming womb

late September

is leaning

drag weighting leaves

in the cling heavy moisture

of Autumn after the rain

it says to me

get ready

pack your things

tuft the thatch

with newspaper advertisements

soak them in loose wet clay

make then the sort of gray color

that the news is anyway

this morning is

a swan song ghost of Summer

tearing color into streaks

that are beginning to peak

in orange red and yellows

throughout the oaks and maples

these wonderfully old trees

with their bare sentinel arms

during Winter

remember too

we are waiting for the cold

to come along

so that we may rouse

the carol of a song

with a heady mead

in our glasses

and we know

that time passes

in a way that

when the light starts

to climb back from

where Summer ends

in the arms of Autumn

Spring can be born

under another

street corner

of Winter turned

toward a surprise

that begins

in our eyes

when close them

to make wish

in our cupped hands

we then lift

to the skies

to be on the wind

and beyond disguise

EJR ©