Autumn

 

Could it be the tender years are gone

and all that’s left are fears?

 

Too many good-byes

and not enough hellos

have left me empty as those

canyons carved and scarred

unable to disregard the flow of time.

 

Blown free from a September tree,

purple dew on wing soaring leaves:

fades the beauty.

 

Copyright @1972 Kenn Storck

May be used with permission.

kennstorck@gmail.com