On autumn’s golden aftermath
December spreads an argent path
Warm trails once green with wanderlust
Lie dead and still in winter’s dusk
And where the song of meadow lark
Once tuned the hour before dark
The wind prevails with solemn moan
A low and moody winter song
Summer’s gentle melancholy
That stirred the midnight willow tree
Has donned a keen and somber note
From winter’s cold and sullen throat
No breeze to softly sigh or taunt
The cool and shaded lover’s haunt
But from the stripped and barren dell
The plaintive tune of winter’s knell
And here we pause to contemplate
The worth of moments we create
As through its kaleidoscope we peer
At patterns layered year on year
Where swiftly fleeting hours transcend
Beyond the visages of men
And winter plays its chilling lay
Then slips to fields of yesterday
Oh, touch the bow to transient strings
And listen to the song it sings
Dance to the music of the hour
For soon the earth reclaims its flower
On autumn’s golden aftermath
The winter sheds its temporal wrath
As Time composes breath by breath
A melody from life to death
Janet~
Sometimes it seems we mark seasons by the transition of the familiar, and it struck me as I was out on my run today, that I am faithfully seduced by the beauty of every season!
The stretch I run is marked by seasonal beauty and song...in spring the wind laughs,in the summer it sighs, in the autumns it is restless and moody and in the winter it moans...
