November's Pantomime

Now on earth’s weathered cheek her teardrops lie
A golden trace of autumn in her eye
And now the wind, a king stripped of its throne
Drifts through this cold and barren world alone
Now folds the lily-cup her waxen lips
Denying vagrant bees, their final sips
While multi-layered skies in purple-blue
Rivet the eye to heaven’s avenue

Now restless feet slow-dance to melodies
Of somber beat and sun-drenched memories
And now the valiant seed of summer sleeps
Where Time in numbered breaths its vigil keeps
The meadow-stream carries with purposed stride
A metaphor of moments in its tide
While humble hearts, like spectators of Time
Watch the unfolding of life’s pantomime

And now the boy of spring becomes a man
As ruddiness imbues the cheek of tan
Now earth receives its draught of umber-gold
Preparing for the thrust of winter’s cold
As nature pens its solemn madrigal
And slips its fingers through each heart and soul
Mankind acknowledges his depth of need
…for now the summer flower has run to seed

Janet Martin

In a matter of days the trees
went from gold-leaf canopy
to bare and naked.

the sky followed suite...
from pure azure to dull gray