The Rain of Autumn

The rain of Autumn falls like cold, harsh truth.

It makes the pavement glisten, hard as coal;

The fallen oak leaves, brown upon the ground

Give up their dreams of flight beneath its pall.

And sink so deep into the earth below

That soon they find a welcome waiting there.

The Autumn rain has washed the canvas clean.

The only colors, brown and black and gray,

Create stark silhouettes against the sky,

And cry that Winter soon will have his day.

A sweater knit of summer’s memories

Enfolds me in its comfort and its warmth.

Our fallen comrade now is laid to rest.

We fill the grave and lay our flowers sweet

Upon the spot where now the summer sleeps.

We dust ourselves and slowly turn away.

I watch as spots appear upon my boots;

As Autumn rain comes falling from my eyes.

©Pamela Stead Jones 2011