Autumn

A poem about the season, but with several different deeper meanings.

 

When the heaven’s cast down,

A dry halo of golden brown,

To encompass all the masses,

And thin all the dead grasses,

Under a wind so chilled in flight,

But so hot and vivid in splendid sight.

 

Our canopies are set to blaze,

And leave behind a fallen maze,

Of trails of fire that once scorched hot,

Weak and weary, lie to rot,

Such a kindle be high in the trees,

Waiting for the crackle of crisp leaves.

 

Besides the tapestry, lies the smell,

 Of ashes and smoke from a year gone well,

For aging lives tasting change,

On crooked paths that rearrange,

Making the most of night gone black,

Pushing aside the warmth they lack.

 

Heightened is my love for time,

Dancing on the season’s vibrant prime,

With cold, icy winter’s pursuit in drift,

Can’t we see that moments are swift?

Like old, tired tantrums gone to sleep,

It’s what we learned that we keep.