I cannot say completely what I feel.
Winter has come and robbed me of my breath.
But wait till Spring and once again I’ll steal
Across some field, some barren yard of death

And wait for Summer’s wind to carry there
A voice that speaks of life with every dawn.
There, waves of radiant music in the air
Will reverence simple gifts of those now gone.

They, like the tinted leaves of early Fall,
Were born to wake, then sleep when dropped the cold.
What Season will it be when first I stall,
And feel my outer shell first crack, then fold?

Perhaps when Autumn’s light burns red as steel,
I cannot say completely what I feel.

by Loren Jarvis

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