Turning his eyes inward
  his heart let out a sigh

And then with one last fleeting glance
  he bid the past goodbye

What’s gone left undetermined
  the future not to be

The moment praying faithfully
  and down on bended knee

His garden burns autumnal
  with colors rich and brown

A robin sings—last plant begins
   seeded wishes in the ground

And then a North wind calls him
  its voice so plain and clear

Those things undone best left to Him
—with winter oh so near

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)