The windowsill frames each passing morning It speaks in a language only stillness hears its say Anchored to the wooden studs of fortress walls that bind solitude, enduring all that autumn's curtain call unveils
Distant towering evergreens look back with taller eyes than yesteryear As these timeworn eyes look beyond and wonder why they've not grown of age —
Time passes away so quickly while waiting for season's change — and I, wistfully dreaming how the trees bear the weight of the sky
Fog lays below the fir boughs, blanketing the drowsy near valley fields Where deep roots repose in the clay of truth that swaddles all abiding mother earth carves in stone —
A monument to all forbearance, just a mortal human could never hold
Pensively envious how long they hold their eminence, patiently suspended beneath the nimbus rafters stay; remaining transfixed without a ray of sunlight — searchingly leaning into each fleeting moment of unclouded sight