Monday, October 6, 2014

Wrestling with Realization





In autumn, nothing is ordinary
Summer does not leave discretely; instead
Farewell tastes like wild apples, mulled berry
Loss veils its sorrow in cinnamon thread

Abandonment dons dashing apparel
Distraction spills over hills, red and gold
Still, undone buttons and loose threads unravel
Realization is stark-naked, cold

“Well, well”, we whisper while autumn lingers
Warming our words with color; at the Gate
Time’s Undertaker waits where our fingers
Clutch fabric destined to disintegrate

© Janet Martin

2 comments:

Thank you always for your visit and your thoughts.