Saturday, November 30, 2013





















Last summer's oak leaves hang in a cluster
like silent bells above my head.
I stand beneath them gazing upward
in this season of hope and dread.
So much rather ear will listen
to the shiny ringing bell
than attend to withered fragile
crumbling leaf with silent knell.
What is left to seek or hope for
when the loss is cold nail driven
into emptied faith like a coffin?
I accept as gift the leaves I'm given.


No comments:

Post a Comment