Poetry / An Optimist's Winter

As a summer buff,
I weep annually
when green falters
fruits wither
leaves blowing asunder
from forces
far past my mere mortal
understanding
unseen-
yet felt.
Sloughing off vibrancy
in lieu of a stark nudity
stoic trunks
face anew
a whimsical firing squad
of ice.

Yet as I sit here
looking into the shadow of
an increasingly bare elm
bare feet cold
coughing, nose runny
epiphany overwoughts
my chilly premonitions.

Now I can see more of the sky.
 

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October 03, 2008

gbaurbis

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