The Fall
of Autumn
I'm in a funk; a bit depressed; could not divine
the reason;
'Til I awoke, and found that Winter's killed my
favorite season,
The leaves upon my Norway maples have half held
onto limb,
But colors cannot penetrate through sodden snow
quite grim;
Instead of wafting down to Earth in Fall's cool
breezes neigh,
Each snow-clad leaf pounds down to ground
From a murky, leaden sky.
Some days ago, I effort made to pen a novel verse,
But no creative thought escaped; I went from bad
to worse;
My mind could not evade the fact that Winter's
icy call
A month too son had echoed by and decimated Fall.
Snow shovels in the garage grow rust; a coat
of paint is needed;
Tomato plants are dead in drifts; the rose beds
are not weeded;
Storm windows yet to be installed are stacked
against the house:
The wind blows cold, but colder still are glances
from my spouse;
She says procrastination has me up against the
wall;
But my inaction comes from mourning our good friend,
the Fall.
Yes, Autumn died too swift a death, bereft of
sweet repose;
Instead of passing on through time, she was quite
cruelly froze.
And yet, with patience did Fall wait till Summer's
torrid blast
Did fade from scene to show us all that season'd
truly passed;
Have we not, thus, by Nature's force, the right,
then, to expect
To have our Fall, enjoy it too, without it being...wrecked?
GDL
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