Ode to this Fall when all of life and one
small part of earth is lost to childhood days,
where play and light grow short, while nights blow cool,
and flowers fell to dreams of summers past.
The sunlight tilts through leaves—a solemn lean
which says we’ve moved to change this giant orb,
no more to bear the wrathful heat of sun
that once in scorn bore down on youth o’erhead.
Where birds once sang and fireflies flew
to light the sky in motioned stars, and still
trees bare a whisper made, now quiet all—
the world walks the hour and readies now to sleep.
These are the days I’ve never mourned to live
and lived to love as though they were my all,
my life enclose and echoes of the past:
In Fall, I feel I am a child again.