The summer has come to an end,Fall has come and gone with color leaving naked trees in its absence.People hurry and scurry about, with crunching sounds of footprints left on natures palette of naked leaves.Fast approaching is winter chill, the air is crisp, heads are bowed with conviction as spirits plow with hunched shoulders fighting against the onslaught of flying and whirling snow in the air. Yes like a Lion in winter, the throne of summer is now empty and its people will pull their garments on to protect them from whatever elements come their way. This is a poem I wrote ending my summer drought, I believe my Muse has found me and come from the shadows once more, maybe this time he will stay awhile.
Where are you Muse, have you forgotten me,
it’s been very lonely, and I from you been
absent all the summer long.
The lilies bloomed, the roses thorn pricked
yet another’s heart that yearned for summer
love to put the spirit of youth and joy back
in their souls.
Please return less you forget me still,
redeem that which is yours, my pen and
namesake, then shut the rest away in the
darkest corner of hell.
Pluck only that which the birds left lying
naked on the dew of summers lost perfumes
and sweet nectar’s left by flowers in their last
light and explode forth new prose to feed
my hunger for poetry at best.
Not even a witches spell could make me
envy summers end, for envious is my heart
your pen when in debate rise and find me
wallowing in my depressed lair among the
hidden scribes of the past.
Winter’s chill is in the air, its scythe cutting
me deeply with frosty words that linger like spoils
left from summer rise and fall invisible there,
yet her pale face adorned with deep vermillion
rose tint reflections caressed by angels breath
that haunts me into winter’s fast approach.
Vincent Moore 2014