we mourn the passing warmth ‘tis all but done;
and grieve as if we didn't already know
the faithful trace of gifts left by the sun
were etched in veins by days of golden glow.
Inside the lush full covers, leafed and green
by whispers from the heart of dearest star
a red and yellow season lay unseen
like wind blown rainfall pelting from afar.
In deserts treeless stands the singing sands
bring haunting tones of flowing wind and dunes
where seasons in apposition expand
beneath the face of ever changing moon
as passing warmth, does slowly ebb away
the beautied bones of summer glide and sway
4 comments:
i have heard the Sun years ago in an experiment the rays of the sun were interpreted into sound and it was like a rain-stick, or the sound of hard rain on a tin roof... remarkable and an enduring impression
at the distance of 93 million miles the inferno that is a star--seems to whisper...hdm
Love this wonderful poem to the sun--I grieve its tilting away even as I know it will tilt back.
A beautiful sonnet to bring in the beautity of Autumn. Thoroughly ejoyed. ~Pamela
Pamela-
what is Autumn without falling leaves...thanks!...H
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