They are leaving me,
the faithful leaves of summer;
waving their goodbyes,
they fly in golden crowds
on greedy Autumn winds
to endless sleep in miry earth.
I shall mourn among the
naked, shivering trees
who face the winter blast alone,
doubting the certainty
of another Summer.
I shall miss the swallows
and their skimming dance;
they have slipped away,
through winter’s icy fingers,
South, to warmer clime.
Orion’s place
beside a Hunter’s moon
defines the frosty dawn,
my firefly evenings, warm and soft,
become nothing but a dream.
Then snow will fall,
its soft white veil enshroud the season’s gloom.
Lakes of ice will catch the moon and sun,
while skidding winter birds
bring smiles to tots whose hands
throw breakfast crumbs.
Fires will warm our souls,
faces glow and hope will be renewed;
enlightenment will cheer,
for Spring is just a sleeping seed away,
and I shall know. . .
all is well.
