To life ...

We feel the Autumn which slowly seeks to Winters sleep,
Where leaves of golden hue and yellow bright fall away,
That hearth and kin all cherished share, even to us weep,
With all that is sacred in our heart, to words in kindness say.

Though hallowed death gives rise to impermanence, that fear,
Where we bid all that is familiar a desperate longing wave,
To huddle with all we hold fast for a lasting time so Dear,
'Tis a waste, it is for nought, if our life we cannot save!

Alas, the trees and farmers know this is the cycle of all life,
That from our holy Spring we are by destiny doomed to die,
From the Summer of our rhapsodies, our drama and all strife,
That hallowed death with grace accepts our truth and so our lie.

In what is life when filled with fear of its darkly unkind end,
From whence we come to this fell dream of meaningless despair,
What kind of jest and jester laugh at these, which so offend,
It is without the blind of Justice nor from the heart of care.

We twist and squirm with this apprehensive cry, to denial sink!
And wash our customs with the lie, that meaning is irrelevant.
So to the quest of this life and its sweetest ambrosia we drink,
All the while looking away from what the leaves of Autumn meant.

We rise to feelings that we have purpose and do all belong,
A curious circle of life where death has as much a say as we.
It is never too late to give our Heart to lofty ways and song,
'Nor can we grieve if this Love, our gift, is given to all freely.

We feel the Autumn which slowly seeks to Winters snow,
Where whitely covered all in sleep that is in Natures way,
Look with kindness and cherish each and every moment so,
Not in whimpered fear we bow, but to live and love this day!