Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Methinks I Sense a Kinship



Methinks I sense a kinship in your gray reluctant eyes
The colors of relinquishment are evident; your sighs
Betray you, ever waning in the rain that weeps non-stop
The flask from whence fair summer poured has drained its final drop

The gold that warmed our up-turned faces, kissed our hungry skin
Is cold, a keener nuance traces our meek chagrin
While still we strain to drain from picture-frames of nature spent
A sweeter sort of beauty in its muted filament

One by one each tree surrenders to the touch of what must be
Leaf by leaf each tear is tendered to Time’s tick-tock majesty
And methinks I sense a kinship in your lingering caress
Where letting go is simply part of love and life, I guess

© Janet Martin

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