They will die tonight:
They whom I have nurtured
Through Summer's warmth;
Green ones who have fed me
With their beauty
And their fruit;
And that vigil that was their
Daily sustenance
Will become an early walk:
The stirring of chilly blood
And morning stretching of the muscles.

They will die,
Victims of the Autumn cold,
Fatalities of approaching storm,
Of a new season,
Of a cleansing that will purify
Their aged seed beds,
Their fatigued fragments of earth:
Death--
But to prepare for a coming
Resurrection and renaissance
Of a future Spring.

And, I will empty out their caskets,
Cast their withered bones
Into an earthy mulch heap,
And into them stir new soil.
That their labor will not be lost.
And even if seedless,
They will induce new growth
In another season,
Enrich another Summer's harvest;
For God's Poesy
Knows no Death.

10/17/2004

Author's Note: Simply Autumn thoughts.

Posted on 10/18/2004
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes