Alchemy
Autumn presses her lips
to the breast of Summer.
I will feed from you
‘til you are no more,
then shepherd you in death
to a crystalline shore.
The old man waits
as surely as you burn.
There is a time for everything
and in everything we return.
In light and in shadow
beyond woodlands, beyond sea,
there is no golden promise,
only alchemy.
Copyright © Barb Black | Year Posted 2012
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