| | Driving through the waxing cold
of a late autumn country road,
I look up at the starry sky
And see the abiding vigil-lights.
Their ancient beacons ever fixed
And storied by each passing age;
Stars have seen a thousand Springs;
The flourishing herb and its wilting.
And what am I, if not like trees
Who give oblation with their leaves
When fates' measured span of time
Begs Winter claim her right?
Just like these, which stars shall see
Decline and fall to their humble roots,
So I and all my works will fade
and mingle with the soil and shade.
And these stolid suns shining
Will view the budding of a Spring
From amaranthine galleries
that never see the season change.
I am a man driving through
a late autumn country road;
now I grace the asphalt stage,
an audience of stars array'd,
but soon I will be gone.
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| | Posted 9/21/2007 10:55 AM - 65 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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