On the silent side
The song that plays
One of nature's best
The stream, I know, has it's nooks
And cranes, that flowing and flowing
Flow on.

A constant, million pulses,
Each with it's own voice.
They carry aloud the autumnal
Demand to be known by its dying flash
Of red, brown, and gray.
The music is seen.

I know and I know well,
Assuredly as the sun
May wake the tear,
This ethereal falling
Is Eden's second death.

What does this mean for me,
As I'm sitting here alone?
The death of Eden alive again,
Cuts as deep as cherubs sword,
And the ice-ed wound won't heal.

Day after ashen day,
When small fire is all
That doesn't add to the pain
Of this season,
I can't walk without the reminder.

But once upon once, in all time,
We relished in Caesar's joy.
Now it's all I remember,
Sitting here again, hearing the song.
It carries away the snow now,
The scars of Adam's falling.

I look to the stream again,
Still flowing and flowing on.
I look to the skies and see,
Nothing is falling now.
Not snow. Not leaves. Not stars.
It is not a wish I make.

The trees reveal the lilt,
Of Caesar's long promise;
That winter is not death
And snow is not for life.
The land and the river still play
The same song it always has.

And just after dawn,
when green spring is gone,
And flicker of leaf chance to fly,
The flowers of morn
Are newly reborn
As myriads of trust from the sky.