November's Madrigal

The clouds are shaggy-gray tonight
A shroud across the moon
But I can hear a song in spite
Of Autumn’s barren room
The purple-blue of twilight’s brow
Its stealthy fingertips
Speak silently of things like snow
As dark and seamless lips
Swallow the far and fading sigh
Of daylight waning in the sky

The regimental symmetry
Of maple, stripped and bare
Arouses still-life imag’ry
Of sorrow ‘gainst the air
But it is not a hopeless grief
That grips the quiet heart
As testaments of ragged leaf
Sustain in works of art
A Surety of unseen things
Beyond the Death which autumn brings

The sentimental memories
The ache of days gone by
The provenance of melodies
The tear-note in the eye
Are love’s impressions on a wall
Of whispered seasons past
The paintings in a hallowed hall
Where not one slight is cast
As we behold the offerings
Of summer, autumn, winter, spring

Janet Martin