A walk along the forest path, nay a sound,
but a creaking tree,
awakens old memories within me.
When the leaves quietly fall from the trees,
When the leaves quietly fall from the trees,
floating softly to the ground, my heart is silenced by the pain
of living without you.
The trees rustling in the breeze seem to whisper,
do not pity the leaves that blow away,
for “Decayed literature makes the richest of all soil”,
Grieve instead for the heart that does not see its beauty
for like the leaves it is fallen beyond repair.
For what on earth can our lives be liken?
For what on earth can our lives be liken?
If not for the beauty we see and the love we share.
The forest shrouded in the morning mist,
seems to be weeping, shedding leaf after leaf,
An owl heard overhead screeching,
An owl heard overhead screeching,
sits perched high above
on natures “proverbial limb” vainly echo’s my thoughts,
For in plain view is the crossroads where we do part.
My heart aches to see you once again
but I know you are out of my reach,
but I know you are out of my reach,
I don’t dare linger here but one last glance into the past
Oh that sweet journey now turned melancholy autumn,
faded and silent before my eyes,
I turn around now and walk to the future
I turn around now and walk to the future
with a trusting heart that spring time will soon be here.
fin
Inspired by Willow's photo image #2 Magpie Tales 35
and for Imperfect prose hosted by Emily
click to visit their sites for other poems & prose.
Visions of Ourselves
A walk along the forest path, nay a sound,
but a creaking tree, awakens old memories within me.
When the leaves quietly fall from the trees,
When the leaves quietly fall from the trees,
floating softly to the ground, my heart is silenced
by the pain of living without you.
The trees rustling in the breeze seem to whisper,
do not pity the leaves that blow away,
for “Decayed literature makes the richest of all soil”,
Grieve instead for the heart that does not see its beauty
for like the leaves it is fallen beyond repair.
For what on earth can our lives be liken?
For what on earth can our lives be liken?
If not for the beauty we see and the love we share.
The forest shrouded in the morning mist,
seems to be weeping, shedding leaf after leaf,
An owl heard overhead screeching,
sits perched high above on natures “proverbial limb”
vainly echo’s my thoughts,
for in plain view is the crossroads where we do part.
An owl heard overhead screeching,
sits perched high above on natures “proverbial limb”
vainly echo’s my thoughts,
for in plain view is the crossroads where we do part.
My heart aches to see you once again
but I know you are out of my reach,
but I know you are out of my reach,
I don’t dare linger here but one last glance into the past
– oh that sweet journey
now turned melancholy autumn,
now turned melancholy autumn,
faded and silent before my eyes,
I turn around now and walk to the future
with a trusting heart
that spring time will soon be here.
with a trusting heart
that spring time will soon be here.
fin
quote :"Decayed literature makes the richest of all soil”,Early spring in Massachusetts: from the journals of Henry David Thoreau By Henry David Thoreau, p.149
photo credits # 2 Willow -Magpie Tales 35, owl-tumblr, 5 & 6 woman in tree-rodney smith,
