Let me sing a song of November
the chilly dream that Winter wakes
October's leafy pageant
the steely wind shakes
from the clattering sky
littering the brown field
when black birds solemnly fly.
The pastel flowers have floated down September's streams like prayer flags flying
The triumphant cry of the year!
Against the western winds laying down their fair share of grief
before Winter steals the color of this dream/
Dusty pink petals swirl and rise never to fall or die.
Bronze bells clang harmony in the distance as if to amuse me
What angel hovers there?
What death dance keeps me turning
What new melody am I learning?
Song of November arises in my mind
echoing ancient battles of yellows and greens
of Summer's grip and before it Spring’s.
I am the wind to tousle your hair
I am fire orange and billowing
I am water
I am the moon
I am the dream when the dreamer wakes
You cannot see me/cannot hear me.
I am the stone and soil
you kick me underfoot.
You never knew me/
never held me at all.
Now alone you sing my song
and stand baffled by its sombre chords
though the words speak clearly
of this day and filter the sand into the hourglass.
Mountains rise and mountains fall
your mind gathers focus then crumbles to a stall
gazing into the mirror the mirror cannot lie
You see your original face without darkness
I am not lying.
Morning comes and morning goes as the broken leaves into the cold torrent's flow
you reach outside/feel the stinging breeze.
The wind tousles back your autumn hair
I come rushing into the air
you catch me in one powerful try
As I tumble into the corner of your eye.
Pale moon hides in her cloudy bed
and fire steals the night
My stream wends in fright an uneven way---
into the neverending poem at the heart of this day!
"All passes away yet God smiles and waves a banner of serenity---
Lord, You hold all of the cards we play
and yet I would beg you to play this hand in another way."