The Coming Ending
Greyed cloudscape:
Even the leaves
have, true to their name,
left the Sky.
Readying work is
done.
Flowers, matings, done.
Repairs and preparations,
all made.
The only work remaining
is excuses.
Exculpations of a worn Self.
Rationalizations
follow realizations
which have long
followed idealizations.
Winter is coming
like a 30 ton steaming
locomotive (crazy motive)
let loose, downhill, and
feeling late to station.
I remember, though,
that surely as the cowcatcher
comes, threateningly
racing towards my Now,
it carries with it
an end of itself
a caboose, a Spring.
And so, though Winter
comes, so too does
it's End.
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