morning poem, september 30, 2015

 

 

.

What comes out of the autumn rain?

Not new life.

The rains in April soak the warming soil

And melt the seed coverings

And life splits the crusts and wiggles skyward; glorious.

.

But the autumn rain has no such purpose

The soil it dampens is falling asleep

Soon to be frozen.

.

What comes out of the autumn rain?

Is it memory?

The “ghost of a romance in June?”

Does it come to bring to mind

The promises of early spring

That nature might have fulfilled?

 

Are we to remember April

Or hope in the promise of coming May?

 

 

Copyright 2015

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