Like Leaves In The Autumn Poem by Tim Michielsen

I am an autumn writer in the cold of the day
Who lets his hands warm up in the sun
And asks her gently to appear and stay

I forget how the snow feels in times of pain
When the light of my memory fades away
And words become misery like mopish rain

My fingers rest on poems from ancient times
Who describe a future so nostalgic to me
Because the words they wrote were goldmines

But no longer my words shine in God’s grace
No longer my golden spoon produces words
No longer is heaven my beloved place

And in the generations that come ahead
Poetry will suffer another nostalgic trip
And old memories belong to the dead

I am the winter poet writing in his bed
Rereading the past in some poems
And the words that my favourite poem said:

Like leaves in the autumn
My words are falling from my poetree

(29/12/2008, Zwijndrecht)