Random Poem of the Day – VI
by Michael Ball
The crunch of leaves beneath my feet,
crimson gold reminders of a dying year.
A November wind blows coldly,
speaking of the coming snow.
Where has the year gone?
Spring’s promise of rebirth
and Summer’s heat and fury,
flit by like brief dreams of life.
Here and gone, leaving only
the drawn out passage into Winter
made longer by steel skies looming heavy
over a landscape, spent and weary.
Where does all the time go?
Soon the blankness of snow
will cover the skin of the world
like an alabaster shroud.
Wrapping the land in a cocoon,
to slumber till time curves upon itself
and begins the cycle anew.