In autumn, far away deep in the hills, the maple leaves turn scarlet
by ivor .e hogg
Fierce gales presaging winter blow, scarlet leaves fall like rain
beneath the trees. The turn brown and rot returning from whence they came.
Stiffened by night frost my writing brush will no longer write
I must wait, my thoughts overflowing. I can make no mark.
My thoughts as fluid as the changing sea, remain unwritten.
Dark clouds dominate the sky, the wind rises to a crescendo.
then suddenly the world is still. Silent expectancy
fills my heart with fear. The calm before the storm.
I sit to write by the light of my oil lamp.Its soft glow
is comforting to my spirit. The pine trees dusted with snow
protect my small house from the wind. I write of summer.
Peach blossoms fill the house with beauty, they will not last long.
once severed from the parent tree death is imminent.
Outside the boastful cherry tree is stripped by the wind.
I yearn to know the path the wild goose flies.
Leaving the flock behind he takes a lonely road, why?
He is driven by his inner devils to seek solitude.
The sky below the clouds is clad in ebony sadness
The mourning light casts a faint glow I weep silently
my fierce protector is no more. I am a widow left alone.