How can I see the light retreat

And hear the chirp of the crickets

Replace the Cicadian beat

Or feel the bite of the morning chill

Without mourning every joy I did greet

In every person I did meet

In my life and all the warm moments

I felt as mine in summertime?

A lesser man would be waiting

For the dead of winter

Already in the cold

If he had not felt the sadness of this loss before,

In a score of autumns,

Hundreds of days,

Thousands of times

Of reverie and regret

At some experience of forfeit.

Yet I do not count myself rich

For their remembrance,

Except that I can rise above the tears

And can love

From the silence and the solitude

Of the winter soon upon us.

2013.09.23.1500   ©