Autumnal Musings
When the wind shifts to the south,
When the leaves wither and die,
I begin upon my path again.
Once again.
When the air begins to bite,
When the skies are beryl-blue,
My mind begins to wander,
And I wonder.
When folk titivate their lawns,
After leaves fall like summer rain,
My introspective whimsy awakes at last;
I study myself again.
Year after year,
Time after time,
Without fail, my inquisition is roused,
And I see myself again,
Like through a crystal glass.
I can see myself.
Year after year,
Time after time,
I catch the psyche’s wind,
And drift despite invective,
Despite mawkish thoughts,
And drift despite.
Copyright © Davis Mills | Year Posted 2022
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