Autumn wind,
blow--
strip the leaves from the trees,
leaves crisp with deep color.
Strip from our soul
the dry and brittle sorrows of the passing year.
Autumn wind,
blow--
fallow the earth,
prepare us for winter's cold and stilling layering
for snow-shrouded stubble.
Bring to our hearts
this welcome time of silent, unseen reparation;
ready us--in figmented death--
for the possibility of rebirth:
in the despair of dormancy
to be aware of our imminent infancy.
Text and image © 2012 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.