Into Winterberry Ash
Caught upon an evening
Pass the arms on edge
Of rocking chair trails reeling
Sipping away into fairy tale
Wild off, cool life teas
Melting ice, and lemon veranda breeze
By and by bloomers chase
In and out, of innocent days
To the last of Indian summer
And brittle beneath awakes
Crying boards that ever creak
As all familiar remembers
A voice bone deep, is missed
Rattles toward the center
And out pass the winds and placid lake September
“Oh, dear Evelyn” our dreams
Hung under wind chime tingles
Trace love amid soft autumns twinkle
No longer songbird melodies braid
In early morning after children
Now shadow, in the splashes of sunning place
Timepiece is now the empty grass
Once with, now without you
As I end a road that leads nearer to your path
And sooner wither folds
Under snow, bird angels holding hands
High into winterberry ash
Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2012
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