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Presage
Can you feel the tendrils falling?
Autumnal threads only visible
to the sensory sight of the soul
a receptivity and prenotion
that sweeps over you ever so lightly.
Then, even though the sun is up and shining,
and grassy places still are green,
the changing colors of Autumn
have begun their slow fall,
there is 'something in the air.'
something there unseen.
The chill vaults of the night are opening,
shedding forebodings and worriment's,
tenuous tendrils tumble,
reaping's they are, even so they transport
the emptiness of the unseen seed,
the essence of every new birth
the promise of eternal renewal,
and when that first leaf drops,
seesawing its way to earth,
many may give thanks,
looking forward
to those beautiful hues of death.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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