Autumn I

How quickly summer turns to Fall.

Warm days linger to entice

Our minds and souls with summer joy.

Then, suddenly and silently, the

Dew grows cold and turns to frost;

Subtle cold replaces green

With yellow, orange, and

(Too soon!) Brown.

Stark bare branches strain to reach

The warming sun, the Source of Life,

But find that if eludes their grasp

And taunts their brittle fingertips

With untrue promises of warmth.

One day green, and lush with leaves,

Now the earth has claimed its blanket

And the trees must bear the Wind

And stand, unclothed, in

Winter’s harshness.

How like a tree am I.

©Pamela Stead Jones 2008