Upon the webs that once were spun,
As natures breath now forms.
For tis so she weeps for summers past,
That fills this autumn morn.
Look, for can you see them,
For they dart from tree to tree.
Sprites and woodland spirits,
Splash colour for all too see.
In a token bash of tributes,
The garlands of the past.
In rustic reds and copper gold,
Leave impressions it might last.
For the lake it looks so silent,
Its waters dark and deep.
Yet it yields up no reflection,
Its secrets so to keep.
Ethereal in its presence,
The falling mist lays low.
Across the scrying glass of nature,
In the half-light morning glow.
A yearning of the things we miss,
Becomes an enchantment spell.
For what seems a dream of those unseen,
Beyond that darkened veil.
For its in our heart there lays a spark,
That fills our very soul.
And makes us whole before we go.
The life circle now restarts.
© Nicholas Windle 2020
Copyright © nicholas windle | Year Posted 2020