Pondering Late Autumn and the Coming Chill
The golden leaves have made their show
that always comes this time of year,
but now as limbs are looking bare,
an umber blanket covers ground.
I’ve seen the harvest moon on high
as farmers reap what they have sown
when spring was warm and rains were soft,
and life was young and full of hope.
I’ve felt the greet of crisp fall morn
as dog days finally disappeared,
and seen the flair of Aster’s bloom
that softly bath in autumn sun.
But now this late November chill
as winds are blowing from the north;
the skies have turned a shade of grey
that beckons bears to hibernate.
This changing season causes me
to pause and ponder life itself;
‘tis said it’s but a metaphor
for time of year and age of man.
Like golden leaves, these golden years
leave barren limbs and umber grounds;
the greying hair is like the skies
of late November’s dulling hue.
And as I ponder season’s change
my thoughts have turned inside myself
to moments past and current paths,
and mulling what my future holds.
I’m wondering if I will see
the coming of another spring,
or will my being hibernate
eternally within its tomb.
October 16, 2020
Blank verse written in iambic tetrameter
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