I took with me an angel
through the autumn of the empty -
arching summons bounding high -
purple, orange and red in plenty
abounding, colored, dying.
We stumble across burnt remains
of One once proudly stood among
the living, dying, changing;
one open door long decades strong
reminding, calling, aware.
Simply “Barn” in life ago,
a loft, some stalls, a livelihood
now stands apart (alone steadfast)
bereft of silent solitude
as we walk in awe of Time.
Amongst the Cycle changing:
broken spine and sagging eyes where
once stood barn exuding Life
stands wood and paper bending air
and I – aware – see past, lost.
I took with me an angel
through the autumn of the empty –
one story begging to be told -
autumn shedding empathy
in spent and aging beauty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem