de la Grange
The breath of fall, a gauzy mist exhaled,
Ascending, burthens seas of dappled gray,
From whence the weeping heart of life unveiled,
Bejewels woods in glistening display;
And there amidst the gilded alder leaves,
The hanging mossy shawls so richly green,
My soul is threaded with the verdant weaves,
Envisioning the epoch Miocene;
Then up ahead, I see my venture's end;
Across a road exists another time;
And once again, I say so long my friend;
Then sadly leave her fragile world behind.
The rip of chainsaws marks another load,
As ancient dead are carried down the road.