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