The wind rustles the branches,
bones of trees with dying leaves,
the rattle is a cacophony of color,
gold, amber, orange, purple and red,
dancing, gleefully screaming a farewell,
holding as long as possible to the bough.
The music of fall sighs and whispers
across the meadow of brown grasses.
There is peace in the melody,
gently grating away the summer dust,
turning back the covers to an autumn bed.
A winter wisp of mare tails in the sky,
with frosty lips, North announces its coming.
Each breath a chilling knife,
carving away the husk of the past,
sculpting the delivery of a new year.
It is enchanting, a marvelous display,
a gift of reassurance that life
will continue renewed, refreshed,
nurtured by the promise of time and,
the earths fragile balance with nature.
Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour
Donald Harbour Poetry 