Transmission

 

I stand above them all

the leaves that I have lost,

and keep the moulding hall

through wind wracked rain and frost.

Their features I recall

forever to riposte.

They fall in seasoned age

red crisped or golden brown

and land upon the graves

of ancestors de-crowned.

Forever, I will stage

fresh life above the ground.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: