Leaving
I lie forlorn beneath freshly fallen snow;
once a bridal veil, now a shroud.
I will not feel the first spring rain.
I will not feel the sweetness rush through me.
Disconnected from the flow, prostrate;
a fallen form freezing to a forgiving ground.
Beside me, remnants of my former glory lean.
Boughs plucked, pieces bent into the endless circle
marked with a blood red bow.
I lie dreaming now with the fallen leaves,
a glorious memory of sunshine, songbirds, soft rain,
and strong winds, swaying in the crisp fall air.
As the last, remnants of memory bloom,
a multitude of bright prismatic light
and the sound of tinkling glass rises
to bring me homeward,
crowned with the evening star
my fallen spirit rises.
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