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Hangers On
by Jane E PearceThe last leaves
on the tree, cling
to beauty tenaciously.
.
They thwart time's needles,
and remain strong
as if to yield, is very wrong.
.
I know-I hang with them
on the oak- we speak of summer,
and Indian smoke.
.
Our stems grow thin,
and separate from the bough-
the horizon prowls
with gray clouds now!
.
The harvest moon smiles
at our travails- he's seen it
all before. He sits there
big, orange, and round,
as we float silently
to the waiting ground.
.
Although these things are all preset,
I think to myself,"No, no, not quite yet." 07/05/2007 Author's Note:
Posted on 07/05/2007
Copyright © 2025 Jane E Pearce
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 07/07/07 at 05:47 PM Oh no! You had me worried there for a second Jane, and then I realized it's only July, though Fall will be here soon enough. Nicely penned reminder of what lies ahead. :o) |
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