Tuesday, October 19, 2010


Soon the last leaf will have fallen
And soon all the red will be gone
Soon all the birds that are calling
To fairer domains will have flown
Soon misty hills of gray-purple
Will gleam with a silver hue
And our foot-steps will soon be muffled
On a snow-covered avenue

Soon the sound of your laughter
Will begin to fade away
Up past the star-studded rafter
And into the clouds of gray
As we vainly try to remember
Your smile, your voice, its tone
The cold bleak wind of November
Weeps on a cold grave stone

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin

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Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!