Her Brush of Golds and Red

 

Once again she comes,

with artists flourish

the canvas fills once more

with hues of Fall.

 

The years go by, ever quickened

by time, true to its nature

it falters not, nor by a second

is the brush stroke delayed.

 

Yet do I wish for it to hesitate?

Not by said second, for it is a

comfort to know that the eye

will be treated once more,

that my senses shall be treated

once more.

 

 Her brush of golds and reds,

sweeps across the countryside,

all is turned to raucous tone,

intense,fragrant, the sound

of crackling leaves a reminder

of my youth.

 

Yes, the fragrance of those

leaves, as we rolled down and through

hills of them, not thinking

of the death of Summer,

but the birth of new fun.

 

Now I breath in and memories

do flood my mind, I think

of one day watching new memories

in a grandsons eye … being created,

thankful for the cycle.

 

Glenn D. Clarke  October / 2009