Leaves & Cornstalks

BACK

The wind is getting cold,

Leaves are all around.

The trees become a colorless mold,

And the cornstalks touch the ground.

The touch of Fall, like the touch of death,

Set’s itself across the landscape in exquisite form of art.

Such a beautiful time to experience,

Until you find out the other part.

Autumn is a time of death,

A death to everything of all.

Maybe that could explain the cause of it.

That’s why they call it Fall.

Now the trees are getting bare,

Flocks of birds are leaving,

The brown grass is grieving.

Fall is in the air.

Smoke is coming from a chimney,

The sky is lit dimly.

The Fall day will come to an end,

But it will soon come again.

One may think that this may be a time of great glee,

Knowing now that your summer’s work had gone well.

I know all too well that this may seem so,

What will happen next, you can never tell.

As all things come, all must go.

Along with nature, so was his time.

For him it was a good day to leave.

If he died of a felony, love was his crime.

Now it is icy and cold,

All the cornstalks are gone.

The firewood will splinter,

Winter has been drawn.

As in sync with nature, Autumn is connected to all.

A time of change and dying.

Like the leaves and cornstalks,

He left us crying.

In memory of Grandy-bo

John E. Dixon