Sonnet 61

As silent yellow leaves fall to the ground,
So does their passing signal summer’s end.
The green whose glory once did here abound
Resigning to a fate it can’t contend.
So each shall follow each ’til none remain
Save crooked branches strained against the sky;
Each sequent foil on foil but to maintain
That every living thing was born to die.
Still, gnarled branches in warm breath of spring
Do resurrect the glory of past days,
And nascent blossoms with sweet scent do bring
From dead of winter, living hope upraised.
So thoughts of you, when absent you may be,
Are like a breath of spring, to aged me.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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