Leaves wind dancing
drift
downward
cover
frost kissed brown grasses
round my feet.
Leaves rustle, crunch...
silent
as I momentar'ly stop
haunted by Autumn's
fallen glory
this strewn battlefield
this lost richness about me.
And I feel
like a windblown leaf,
thrated, destiny commanded
by the lordly wind
who tightly wraps
his chill fingers about me
to toss me forth.
Must my fate balance
in his cool careless fingers?
Must my gold-scarlet splendor
be doomed to indifference
and decay?
November 1981 or 1982
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem