I thought about calling this
“Season of Loss,”
but Autumn knows better than I.
Leaves leave the tree
with no sense of loss;
they russet, spiral, spin away
freely. Autumn air catches them
at their gilded best.
There is no regret.
The maple does not pine
to be evergreen,
but disgorges her foliage in bunches,
in great, crunching piles,
like an heiress, heedless of her jewels.
There is no sorrow.
That which bore will be barren
soon. Fall does not weep for Winter,
no more than Winter laughs for Spring.
They circle round like dancers,
each season a waltz.
There is no ending.
6 comments
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October 31, 2013 at 6:55 pm
suesconsideredtrifles
I like this. After a day spent out and about in the countryside I wrote a poem about trees. http://suestrifles.wordpress.com/2013/09/28/deciduous/ Sue
October 31, 2013 at 7:39 pm
starrystez
Wow great poem and message.
October 31, 2013 at 8:17 pm
loristrawn
Thanks, starrystez! I like your blog, too.
November 1, 2013 at 12:16 am
rhcwilliams
The maple does not pine! To be evergreen! Heck yes. This is so lovely, Lori. And today in my backyard, the golden leaves were falling so heavily that it sounded like rain in my sunroom. Seasons are a-changing indeed.
November 2, 2013 at 11:44 am
suebe
What an amazing thought provoking post, Lori. The images stayed with me all night.
November 2, 2013 at 3:09 pm
loristrawn
Thank you, Ruth and SueBe!