Archive
09/21/08
The Leaves
The peacefulness of this sleepy Sunday-morning village, Now that the summer vacationers have departed And autumn is creeping out of its leaves, Cannot be fully appreciated in human measures; The serenity of the changing landscape is just too ethereal.
Save for a lone bell, chiming its churchgoers to services, The only sounds are those of the transfiguring leaves, Whispering their deciduous threnodies, Just weeks from fluttering down, to kiss the ground, Receive reprieve from their timebound tethering.
And then there's me, who's never been a free spirit, Located here, not quite by sheer coincidence, Whose wish has been to go with the drift of things — A flesh-and-bones soliloquy, Declaiming, to the leaves, to the breeze, my ecstasy.
09/21/08
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