Turning And Turning Poem by Peter S. Quinn

Disappearances turning and turning,
Whisperers of water and dust;
Dawn sky into red now burning,
Pleasures from forgotten lust.
Days are badgered to sky's forehead,
The open space covering it all;
Leaves from lost autumn now dead,
Winter's through bleak colors befall.

Appearances of footsteps in the snow,
Golden whirlwinds of dark thoughts;
Silence like graveyard down the row,
Nothing but the breeze there caught.
The hours leave insubstantial faces,
Crumbling earth and old erosions ruins;
For now there are no summer traces,
Only shadows in dark weaving motions.

Deep into lost something is found,
Night with the wind's hundred days;
Water in the river now ice bound,
Pleasantly glowing silver twilight's rays.
Wind carrying away words of the darks,
Murmur its babbles to the gray stones;
Into the evening singing of larks,
The nights tangled in dullness tones.