October 13, 2017

AUTUMN

The darkened forest is so bare;
the fallen leaves are everywhere.
Wind whistles through the lonely trees—
they twist and turn with graceful ease.
An aging man walks slowly there
amidst the sharp and frigid air.
He slows his gait, then stops his stroll.
On him the years have had their toll.
He taps his cane against the ground.
Old Man Autumn’s come around.

No comments:

Post a Comment

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
- Lord Alfred Tennyson, In Memoriam