Liza Bellows | + Follow Poet |
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Visions of the Past

Autumn’s first cold wind has come,
It passes over names in stone,
And leaves of gold and red swirl 'round,
As I stand here all alone,

I think back to years long since past,
Memories almost forgotten,
I watch them scatter with the wind,
Did I ever have all that I wanted?

And as I think about such things,
I begin to feel a chill,
Is someone there behind me,
Fear makes the whole world still,

And then I hear a whisper,
As soft as when you sigh,
It whispers softly into my ear,
Why is it that you cry,

I spin about to see the one,
Who whispered this to me,
And in the waning light of Autumn’s day,
A ghostly impression is all I see,

It spoke so soft I could barely hear,
About the times of old,
And sadness soon replaced my fear,
As the wind blew still so cold,

It spoke of farmlands, hills and tree’s,
That stretched so far away,
And sunsets rays of pinks and reds,
Over the golden fields would lay,

Of Autumn’s colors and falling leaves,
And frost that turned to snow,
Of horse and carriage and Christmas bells,
And candles all aglow,

Of drinking cool water from clearest stream,
And standing in the rain,
Sleeping under evenings stars,
Hearing the whistle of a train,

My eyes now misted with saddened tears,
Felt for a time so long ago,
I wished I myself could have seen,
What this ghostly one did know

The moon now rising over bare trees,
And the chill wind blowing through,
Sent all the last remaining leaves,
Blowing past us two,

And with a whisper nothing more,
This ghost began to fade,
It whispered softly with the breeze,
I must go back to where I have been laid,

What has the world become these days,
Who knows life’s simple joy’s,
How can people see earth and sky,
While playing with their toys,

I wish somehow I could go back,
And see the land that was,
Maybe someday it will return,
But my friends that’s up to us…

Copyright © Liza Bellows | Year Posted 2006

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