WINTERFALL

Autumn bides her weary time till trees like setting suns have had

their evening splendour out and even misty mornings bring the joy

of rattling rusts and roses bristling in the breezes, sere like

the skins of bark beneath them.

Bright their hue in the sun's rich light

In gold & yellow & dun they're dight

But they keen in the wind's chill breath.

In a brief storm in a black night

One falls and is wan in the paling light

And the dun darkens to death.

.

...

.

Cold was the mire underfoot

And wet were the feet that trod

Thin was the cry she heard in the storm

And broken in the sod - her god.

Sorrows untold for her weary lord

Pierced her through with pain

And she gave him her gown of

Gold & brown and one of black she made.

Then the land was dark

As she cast it wide

And the bare hillside

Was chill and stark

As winter's grip

The spells unrhymed

That summer made;

Hoar frosts pinched

The sleeping seed

And the forest path led

On and on through barren dells

And misty slopes fell sheer away

And the dark road had

no ending