“Seasons” (A Poem)

Seasons

In the late autumn,

when trees have discarded

coats,

 and we

 have put them on

chasing down the rising dawn

while snow and rains,

claim within us a shiver…or two;

blanketed between soft cottons

and goose feathered downs

we dream perhaps of warmer days

when sunsets lingered and

the choirs of bulbous bull frogs

and field crickets, mahogany in color,

perform in their nightly stridulation

an encore, now sorely missed.

 

Miles away,

down dusky shadows

Of winding country roads

Enveloped in dust and mud,

Farmsteads,

Moated and armed

with Barbed-wired

rusting fences…

the brontide sounds of protest

echo and reverberate,

as a dying summer storm collides

and swirls. 

Clouds, dark and foreboding,

curtain the sky as summer

exhales one last staggering breath.

Tears descend

upon the earth,

dampening  the soil

with one last frosted kiss goodbye…

soon, an ushering in of

new birth will meet

us again.