Seasonal

Off-springs

from fertile streams

be dammed

in Spring

when blossoms bloom,

and bestow

such a glorious

tight hold

less they are foraged,

plowed under

forgotten,

down trodden

and rotten.

­

all the worse in Autumn

when one realizes ­

that things, indeed,

do FALL.

Winds whipped

rustling fading gold,

soon rattling brown.

Some already gone barren,

now on the ground 

while others cling

to the last of the fears

letting loose of the branch

losing their dresses

their flourish, 

their grace.

A futile fight.

Now nearly nude 

while waiting

winter's blast,

their black bones

entangled

silhouetted

starkly dark

and naked

stuck in a globe

in a snowwhite

infinity

just waiting

for a shake

that's soon to come

 

 

 V