Branches strum and bang the leaves,
Their copper chords played here with Eve,
Her lusty green has gone to yellow,
A silent hue that writes me mellow.
In stranger's eyes I read the same,
Familar hurts and searching pain.
But blazing on their shiny edge,
A soul in color beyond life's stretch.
A bond is sewn in nature's quilt,
With miles and miles of faceless guilt.
For in this happy moment stirs,
The truth to life that we are hers.
And as the wind picks up my feet,
I taste its rare and welcome treat.
The music from a freezing choir,
Which puts to sleep the young that tire.
Somehow each light is older now,
Though younger than its shadow.
And every look spills words that mime,
The slimy crawl of brother Time.
It's here that I have found my home,
Where happiness is gently combed.
My death may tick in Springs own column,
But I was always born in Autumn.
