AUTUMNS SHROUD

This bleeding jaundiced canopy,

a season finely darned. The old trees

wait and nod then shed the tapestry

of this year’s loomed detail.

A wintered breath leaches from your toil

this grave lain funeral shroud. Night-cold

limbs will miss the absent glory

of summer’s golden light.

Slip now your gown off shoulders high,

for kissless cold-embraces of the empty
not here yet.

Swift ferried now on Charon's funeral

barge to the mossen exiled shores.

Till next breaks the following dawn

of Spring begets the green renewed.

.


11.9.2011