Poem: Dreams of Spring

Dreams of Spring

The leaves are falling.

The woodland blazes, gold and flame,

More beauteous at the death

Than in those days when

Blossom turned to greet spring's sun

Without a thought of summer,

Much less of fall.

But every breeze steals gold and fire,

And only bones endure beneath...

So brief is autumn: winter snows

Begin to fall before the final leaves,

And those enduring bones --

Strong yet beak, bare, stark --

Merely drowse, and wait, and dream

Of days when blossom crowned their brows

And strewed their feet. They dream, I think,

Of youth and yesteryear.

(Originally published in Sylvia Magazine)