Autumn Reverie

These words awake the wanderer,

And show the straight and shining Way.

Beneath the windblown, battered boughs,

With dyed leaves desperate to drop,

He pauses to pursue the point.

Is it freedom to unfettered fly,

To hold no hall as holy home?

To love not and unloved live,

But in midnight’s melancholic memory?

The ruled and rooted reside in rest,

Yet he takes tiresome trails to… where? to… whom?

A bell begins its blessings bright,

Its sounded sonnet soothes his soul,

As about him all awakes anew.

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 )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google 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 )

Connecting to %s