Autumn leaves have been falling,
falling near and far.
So silently they fall, they make no sound
when they fall and hit the ground where
standing over them dressed in dark suits
are trees in solemn mourning
and devoid of comforting thoughts,
except perhaps the trees’ own knowledge
that leaves are born in the spring
to fall before the winter to save the trees,
and that some leaves, despite their predicament,
have managed to grow and realize
their true colours,
and have lived fully thus for a time
before they fall.
WATCHING THE SUNSET ON BAR HARBOR
Our feeling has followed the sun’s
downward path towards the water
long before we begin to notice.
It has been out trailing the sun,
and has been jointly descending,
and is now gleaming and rippling on the inlet.
But what causes the feeling to ripple?
Perhaps it is perturbed by the prevision
that all which it beholds and holds dear,
like the sunlit inlet and surrounding hills
and the beautiful sailing vessels
that anchor here, will soon disappear
in the unrelenting rising darkness
which is all encompassing.