An Autumn Night In Bed Poem by Nero CaroZiv

An autumn night in bed at those days of childhood
I observed from the window under flickering lights in the middle of the wood
A yellow pinkish leaf was uprooted  up from its branch
With winds flowing upon the cold bough and wooing to conquer meadows and grange


An apple tree with full juiced apples waxed over mellow
Stood over loaded bough bending to the ground and leaves turning yellow
The apples had been sweetened by summer sun light
In the gloom of the hissing howling winds at silent autumn night


From my window I gazed upon flowers over ripened in their plot
The rusted nails fell to the street from the knot
The diverse of bloom in late autumn ripened and faded, grew and fell, no purpose or toil
Only the ever trusting, eternal beloved mother soil


As a child I hated the autumn nights dark blue sky
Knowing that harsh winter was behind with rain and gust
Those days I first learnt that death is the end of all life, ah why?
Should all life suffer this fate? with labor, torments and blast?


Amid of trepidation and fear there was a sweet music; so soft and calm it did fall
It came rushing over Vermillion petals blown from roses in the grass
And through the gloom of a house wall
That stood against a narrow pass


So dear to me are those memories from days of childhood life
Though they were stringed with agony and laborious strife
The vile hand strewed anguish and despair; still I can weep
Since the happy hours of back days I can see only in my sleep 


And what is left? dark house by which once more I did stand
There the road became unfamiliar, strange long unloving street
Windows shut, door where my heart used to beat
So earnest was that door waiting for the touch of my hand

A hand that can grasp the knob no more
The memories of my house haunt me in long night bereft me of sleep
If I could like a guilty man I would creep
And open again the world behind that door


I am not in that house any more; I traveled far away
Where I enfolded with the noise and roar of new life again
And ghastly through the drizzling cold rain
On a busy bald city street upon me breaks the blank day


Yet I remember my darling room; my eyes and soul delight
With one couch and bed soft and white
No other little room a shelter in bad times; so warm and bright
A guardian for my dreams; protector wherein to read, wherein to write


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