When the aroma of soup
Fills a late autumn kitchen
With love and early evenings,
It's nearly time.

Wrap the heart
In extra layers of insulation;
Chop the wood,
Pick the last of the fall crops;
Gather the shutters
Against the bitter winter winds.

If summer tempts with
Off season kisses,
Entices with a warm breeze –
Consider that a frolic
In youthful assurances
Puts natural progression at risk –
A winter never frozen.

“And by what harm,
Jejune persuasion,
Does the harvest yield drown?”

It is known of old that
Every root seeks its rest;
Every brook, its ice;
Every fish, its last rites;
And every bear, its nap.

Indeed, an early frost
Already chills
Half-century bones.

(For, to float, indulgent,
In those fierce, tropical eyes
Would cause a rip
In the solid seam of time
For many an eon to come.)

These considerations breathe,
Far too serious
To contemplate the likes of whim;
To whit, your raven hair
Shall never know the
Crush of winter grapes
To wine.

10/30/2011

Posted on 10/31/2011
Copyright © 2024 Alison McKenzie