Obed dela Cruz (October 18,1995 / Marikina City)

Travelers play their flutes while walking through autumn trees
Beside a glassy lake of purple mists feared and known.
I knew winter was ready to come within the breeze
Because of the changing tides of winds carried and blown.

Cold are the nights if there is no fire to heat the soul
As the road becomes uncertain of its direction.
For it shall be when the world lose its last burning coal,
There are no more lights to guide the human affection.

And so here am I in the final days of harvest
As each passing I hear them sing for the winter’s song.
Now the falling leaves on the ground finally rest
But faithful branches attached to the Vine shall prolong.

Alas for the woodland when some workers bid goodbye
Because beyond the fading meadow is the Master’s call.
Now my longing is to be one of those lifted high
When the time has arrived for the wildflowers to fall.

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Copyright © 2011 by Prince Obed de la Cruz

(April 11,2011; Marikina City)

(This poem is written by PRINCE OBED de la CRUZ. To use it in a proper manner, please email him at princeobed_dc@yahoo.com with the subject “PERMISSION TO USE”)