Last Fall
The days are short, the wind has grown,
My community has now all flown.
I stare at emptiness all around,
And brownish carpeting on the ground.
When I was young, so long ago,
The days seemed endless, ever so.
I was so green. I’ve learned a lot.
So many shared my lofty spot.
We danced and twirled the time away,
Forgetful of the length of day,
With unseen music through the bright,
And whispers in the silent night.
Alone, I watch the neighborhood,
A stark and silent stretch of wood,
Tears sometimes dim the golden days,
Until the scene is filled with haze.
And only memory serves to fill,
The lonely times upon this hill.
They all have gone now, I remain,
A sad perspective is my gain.
They’ve departed, this way and that,
A graceful tip of an invisible hat,
And scattered to the winds they were,
Until only I am left to stir,
I twist to shed the Winter’s blast,
As I enjoy my being last,
And in the bleak and dismal scene,
I long for days when things were green.
One morning, I awake to find,
The world transformed while I was blind.
In darkness, change had come within the night,
The brown became a world of white!
In joy at last I chanced the breeze,
And danced among the stark black trees.
On stiffened fingertips, I race,
Across the snow without a trace.
All through the day I dance and twirl,
‘Til dizzy with the endless whirl,
I fetch up in a tent of green,
And on a sturdy trunk I lean.
The needle-leaves fresh fragrance sends,
With frozen tears the branch then bends.
I look at stars through crystal lens,
I settle down, and dream of friends.
NicknamedBob . . . . . October 19, 2006
Your poems are beautiful, Bob.
Thank you for your lovely poetry, Bob!