The softest whisper through the autumn trees
Might promise something darker on the way;
A single cloud above a sunlit day
When mixed with scintillations of the breeze,
Presage a distant echo of unease;
A lighter patch of grass when growing may
Suggest that what was green will turn to grey
And dying stalks; a touch of chill may freeze
Septembers otherwise delightful. Yet
To read the future into every storm
And seize the darkness every shadow keeps
Is asking for more trouble; suns will set
While deep Decembers huddle to be warm,
But in the darkness hidden summer sleeps.
No comments:
Post a Comment