As the "days dwindle down to a precious few", I recall a time when death was not all around. This time last year I still was not aware that my brother Alex had passed away in August. And my mother was still alive, but the end would come fast with the winter's approach. I wait for a sign, something - anything from him...but I'll miss him most of all when autumn leaves start to fall....
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ReplyDeleteLet Your Soul Shine Through.....
My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
ReplyDeleteThinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.
--My November Guest
by Robert Frost
Thank you for that, Laura.
ReplyDelete