Wednesday, November 1, 2017

The Last Autumn

Thinking April cruelest
Has strangely ill prepared us
For a November that arrives
So lush and full of color

Come the first of November
And the greens and yellows
Still persist yielding
Precious little ground
To reds and browns

It's as if the signals
All got mixed
And rebirth
Has been coerced
To step over death's lines

And if Eliot was alive
Do you suppose he would
Change his mind
Seeing the life force
Thus bewitched by the
Likes of humankind

This autumn is unfolding
As if it's the last one
So regal in its bearing
Since early September
It's been a slow roller 
Leisurely building to 
This crescendo of color

Time it seems
No longer runs apace
Now that the shoreline
Of our final destination
 Has heaved into view
Each autumn comes
Tinged with the color
Of the last



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