There's a little bit of hope
for everyone,
an enabling.
Like a record that keeps playing,
a snowball chance in a dream

In the Rain and Sun,
there's a late Autumn dash.
There's a pigeon of a smile,
breaking through cracked lips

There's a sigh of consternation,
well being like petrified wine,
that keeps us moving
Can you hear me now?

'Twould be best if we could perish
While in us there is some light,
Not to live devoid of vigor
Till the soul, detached, takes flight.

'Twould be best if we could perish
While we speak with our eyes,
Not to have a frozen vision
And a chilly heart that sighs.

'Twould be best if we could perish
While we're human, because thus,
We won't see our weary children
Crying when attending us.

'Twould be best if we could alter
The grim future from the sky
And to chose with our thinking
When it's good for us to die.

This night stands at the death of summer,
Poised to catch the fall of leaves,
The deadened pulse of green things
Grown disconsolate in the hands of Frost.