|
| |
Serenade for The Trees
The trees are beginning
to turn inward towards sleep
and are letting go of leaves
dressed in their funereal finery
of yellow, orange and red.
They fall like severed wings.
The heavy shade
that for months has kept
the avenue cool in the heat,
is slowly dissolving into light.
Something in me is struggling
to hold onto what is slipping
away. The green vibrancy
that canopied my way,
flowers in their lush spill,
the warmth that lingered
on the breath of evenings
as you would find
in the soft whispered air
resting on the lips of lovers.
Soon, all will pass.
The night is coming on.
It's growing colder.
The last excited yells from children
are being pulled away by parents
from the darkening reaches
of the park.
Birds are becoming quiet.
I don't want to leave just yet
but will wait to see
the last light of the sun
say goodbye to the tops
of the trees. Then,
it will be time for me
to go.
Copyright ©
Paul Willason
|
|