Autumn's Call
AUTUMN'S CALL
On turning wheel of time the seasons come and go
I feel them, know them by the fleeting footprints
they indelibly make on my life I call a far meadow
because in their tapestry they’re so very distinct,
in nature’s canvas their unique images they print.
This summer came riding on the sun’s fiery chariot,
blazed furrows in green pastures turned wasteland,
sucked soft soil’s moist core in smoldering days hot.
Birds couldn’t stand heat, for rains sky they scanned,
hapless trees stood still as sagged leaves got tanned.
I now see the burnt smoky sky getting slowly clear,
in the cerulean expanse clumps of cotton clouds roll.
In dewed dawns I can feel the pleasant nip in the air
that braces the bushes waiting for the autumn’s call
to start painting new colors on the foliage in the fall.
August 27, 2018
Copyright © Subimal Sinha-Roy | Year Posted 2018
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