Eden

‘Twas a grey november morning When I climbed outside my window To see my breath like dragon’s smoke Swirl and dance away. ‘Twas bitter cold That autumn day, And sickly sun wore mourning shrouds Though lazy earth had yet to draw Her snowy blanket To her chin. I marveled at The tiny leaf- The last one to remember Summer’s happy days, The only one to forget His time was done. Yet in his small defiance- Prideful even in the light of death- As he clung tightly to the bough He commanded wondering respect. And too The blades of grass, Idle maidens gossiping, Had not lost their bright greenery To old winter’s paling breath. For they had done with washing Dappled cheeks in morning dew, Now arrayed themselves in frosty gowns For Autumn's final dance. With cheery feet They turned and swayed, Laughing in their finery, The wind as minstrel serenading With whistling tune Them all. Until the last leaf, Old heart breaking, Found that he could hold no more. Slowly, Slowly down he drifted To the forest floor. Then with a crashing sound was shattered The stillness of that dark, dark morn; And all the maidens wept in earnest- Rent their lovely clothes in twain. And as I felt the old man sleeping- Dreaming ever In my hand- I knew the magic of that morning Had been torn away. Sure enough, earth’s yawning Fingers Pulled upon herself the snow. But still sometimes I think of Eden Hidden in the folds of Autumn: Longing, pining, yearning still To whisper ancient secrets To me.