The Passing
by Stewart Stafford
In the gorgeous death of Autumn,
Tree-bowed alms for the wind,
Sacrificing eye-catching features,
Now primed for Winter, skinned.
Organic shaded palaces looted,
Shells of once-shimmering things,
Shorn of their prettified plumage,
Until born again the following Spring.
Everything is recycled in Nature,
Dead leaves compost the soil,
Turning wheel of rampant Summer,
No memories in the humid broil.
In the gorgeous death of Autumn,
Tree-bowed alms for the wind,
Sacrificing eye-catching features,
Now primed for Winter, skinned.
Organic shaded palaces looted,
Shells of once-shimmering things,
Shorn of their prettified plumage,
Until born again the following Spring.
Everything is recycled in Nature,
Dead leaves compost the soil,
Turning wheel of rampant Summer,
No memories in the humid broil.
