Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Autumn Doggerel

It always smells like smoke in fall,
the tired winds bring hints
of burning leaves, a cold brick wall,
and musty peppermints.

The gutters cover up with leaves,
the bottoms slick with slime,
which all the newly fallen sheaves
become in a short time.

Just like Ash Wednesday, dust to dust,
the trees return to earth.
So Nature's Lent and dying must
precede its spring rebirth.

I've always heard my friends declare
their favorite season's fall.
because of color, clean cold air,
or death stalking us all?

To see the death around us must
remind us we're alive,
that we've not yet returned to dust,
we've years till we arrive.

Remember then, that every year
you die a little more,
and still you have, not deathly fear,
but some time yet in store.

1 comment:

fort knocks said...

I wish this poem didn't suck, but I can't help it.