So falls the willow,
splits among the calling green
those fronds which clasped the years are flailing,
trailing soft, where once you fought against the stream.

Without you,
there would be no smoke to fill the empty heart with clouded joy,
no birds to sing and beat their wings to flame upon the fire
no melancholy note
which plays upon the heightened tightened string of deep desire,
no skies which fall and leave us chained
imprisoned on the altar stone, vaguest remnants of the fall,
we cannot know, we cannot tell
as the Master said when he was young
‘hey-** if love were all’

Grace of skies,
wind blown high,
fine figured, soft and fair
tease the wondrous yellow hair
of autumn

Yesterdays leaf
springs lithe and green,
of promise fine and fair,
todays is dry and parched and brown
its lifeblood fled elsewhere,
a cracked and fragile brittle thing
where hope no longer flowers,
how could this be,
how came you change,
full cursed by bitter hours

Mosquito, mosquito
annoying chiquito,
no more flights,
no more bites,
no more bon appetito,
you pushed me too far
for you it's finito

Summer’s lease is over,
fall has settled in,
the knuckle bones of winter,
are showing through his skin

Soft falls the morning,
landing safe, on cold and somewhat soggy ground,
drops the breeze,
stills the trees, kills the sound
spreads the light, dispels a fragile finished night,
brings forth a day, still grey, who lies,
and pays his way with promises of being bright