The Ritual of Autumn (How All Things End)

 

At last the autumn takes its toll:

The gaudy flush of leaves are down,

And weary frauds of summer burst.

We’re left to face the coming cold.

 

The monotone of honest skies,

Is dampening out all thoughts of growth.

The facts of death are plain and fair,

With brittle bark, revealed and bare,

 

The bed is warm, the fire is old.

What better place to turn away,

To run the thoughts that autumn brings,

Of things that mattered but are gone.

 

If change were worth the while we’d change,

But now we know how all things end.

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One Comment to “The Ritual of Autumn (How All Things End)”

  1. I see it in this very visual poem, but even more, I feel it in my bones. You state it well, and I like the whole cycle.

    The bed is warm, the fire is old.

    What better place to turn away,

    To run the thoughts that autumn brings,

    Of things that mattered but are gone.

     

    If change were worth the while we’d change,

    But now we know how all things end.

    …and therein is the rub.

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