Lament of a Season

Posted by Brad Osborne on November 18, 2019 · 9 Comments 

 

 

Cornfields tall cut short by farmer’s scythe

Frost greeting each long-shadowed sunrise

Days seem to be but a flashing of light

Before again the cold and dark of night

 

It oddly seems a bit quieter now

An absence of nested fur and fowl

And breath brings with it steaming cloud

A view of each word spoken out loud

 

Snow has yet to blanket in white

Empty tree and field the only sight

For the snap and chill of winter’s hand

Pushes across a barren land

 

Oh, to miss the falling of the leaves

A rainbowed hue that truly deceives

Like mastered trick in a magic show

The coming of the winter snow

 

I knew that you could not long stay

But I held out hope anyway

Alas, you will pass I fear

Gone from me for another year

 

 

Filed under Poetry · Tagged with autumn, change, fall, lament, passing of time, poem, poems, Poetry, seasons, strict form poetry, winter