A seasons of life poem, this highlights the metaphor of dwelling on autumn in anticipation of life’s winter, which often conjures thoughts of hardship. However, the end shows that the cycle of seasons is constantly moving, much like a stream, and that the joy of spring is promised in the beauty of autumn.
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.
Simply beautiful! There is so much delight to be found in your words! 🍁❄️
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I appreciate that so very much! Thank you!
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