The Leaves Of Spring Still Fall Poem by Alven L. Robinson

Three years on, the leaves of spring still fall.

The river views of pearl dawns are gone;
poems of dust have drifted from the shore.

Watching from afar, the moon appears across
her window; a pendant light rises in her eyes.

Silk threads linger in her gaze; smoke spirals
past forsaken skies.

A distant mountain stands above the broken mirror;
frozen trails reach beyond repose.

The night glows in shades of black; a messenger
is summoned through the rain.

The valley knows the farewells of the winding path;
damp eaves are melting in their pride.

When the edge of light is tattered, nothing moves
beyond the clouds of fortune.