November

In November limbs are still
Thin against the dying light
From sylvan vale to hill
Poised in forms for us, contrite

Pergola bare with thorn 
The knuckles of the hemlock worn
Expansive loomed leaf arbor's torn
Preparing for winters blight
in hibernation

To discover the divination
of dendrology, their eschatology and escape
Mystic trees as old as hills they nest 
Did they raise the earth abreast
and create
Hill and dale, with leaves and root's end-trail
These trees beyond date
and chronology

Ever older, wiser growing,
love, loss and dying things
they who see all and knowing
of all things past that chronos sings

If I could hear, what would they tell?
Of all history's, fair and fell? 
And all the tails of old recreate
Dare I impel, and test, 
The gods with such haughty inquests
Demanding a divination of truth?

No, never will I know their tale
And happier be, beneath the arbor vale
         in summers sweet
                   or bit by winter's tooth 
Seek thou? No!
There is no sooth.


Finishing Line Press.  Book FAREWELL TO THE DUST, by C. S. Leaf avalible March 2008
www.FinishingLinePress.com

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.