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
©
This dances like leaves in the wind...well done poet x
ReplyDeleteMmm... Le tourbillon des saisons dans toute sa splendeur :)
ReplyDelete