By Robert Fischer
Upon the last reflection, Of ripples of the last Autumn leaves,
The slowing of natures pulse, Upon last breath, before we grieve.
Not knowing the path of time, Or did we stop to see,
A little spotted butterfly, Upon a bright green leave.
Its been so long where did they all go, And now the leaves
Have lost their color,
From red, . . . .to brown, . . . .to gold. Sun touched leaves,
That tumble to the ground, To natures animals,
Of silence . . . .so profound.
Upon the darkness of the days, And the bitter windy chill,
From haunting silence to keep, Could life be simply asleep?
Remember my friend, Winters chill is loosing fast,
The sun will not be denied, His season . . . . . . to over cast.
From the shrouds of white, That that have really lost their sting,,
The calling of the returning ducks, That life has come to sing.
Until the blossoming fireworks, Of a mothers great return,
Loose not thy hope, Father Time has heard your concern.
Close your eyes, For the moment that will pass the Autumn glows,
The little spotted butterfly, Will soon land on your nose.