poem

 A Little DeathYou ever wonder why leaves seem mostBeautiful in the fall? It isn ’t just the colorBut the fact they have a little death in themNow, though soft and rippling in breezesStill attached to rooted living treesBut starting to show hints of the end In splashes of amber, orange and red Even when they fall, they waltz downUnselfconsciously like grandparents At weddings just taking their time Soaking up every note of the song Only when rusted brown and desiccatedTo a crust do they start to lose our interest,Become an unsightly speckled lawn rash,Detritus to rake to the curb like trashScuttling like loose bones across driveways and roads When wintry Canadian winds gust throughI have a little death in me now tooBut it isn ' t the gray infiltrating my templesOr the lines etched around my eyes Or the fact my flesh isn ' t quite as supple I ’ve seen too muchI ’ve budded and bloomedSpent a life straining for the sunIn order to do my allotted work I let the wind have its way with meI ’ve trembled in spring breezesClung tight during summer storms But now I ’m ready for the fallI ’ve even stopped raking the leavesLittering my lonely swath of backyard They ’ve become beautiful to me Now. And I know the wind Will ultimately blow them all awayNo matter what I choose to do Some things have nothing to do with what we do Just let winter be the winterLet the winds howl and blowLet the res...
Source: Buckeye Surgeon - Category: Surgery Authors: Source Type: blogs