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Personal Note:

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Poem

 
it is cold and the flowers are dying
becoming withered memories
leaves are drifting and rain is falling
and the river flows like a stream of glass
the grass is fading 
and birds are flying away
and the forest is taking on a sombre hue
and storms shake the ocean of my sleep
where my hair is soft as a spider web
and my filmy dress a paling green
and I stand still in this decay as a tree
with my arms outstretched to the sky
oh, the fine thread of summer is a fading thought
yet, there is a hazy beauty all around me 
and within the crumbling fragile leaves soar
oh, the splendor of the whirling burnt orange
and red leaves spinning
like weeping blood red raindrops 
oh, listen to the sweet chiming 
of falling leaves 
that I will hold like a blanket of memory
while the wind utters low wails like a hundred violins
and hidden birds sing 
a beautiful symphony just for me

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