Seasons

The grass grows slowly now, and the robins are rare. There is a blush of scarlet on the mountain range, And a back-to-school coolness is in the morning air. Nature is announcing the season is about to change. The advent of another fall rewinds my lost youth. Nostalgia stalks me apace with rose petals that fall. I think of classmates, and dawdle to know the truth. I think of teachers, too, who gave us their loving all. Even as a boy, I understood life is a play of many acts Not only in nature, but in loved ones hosted by my heart. Mother’s back began to bow, Father mislaid his facts. I felt another chill in the air; their seasons will depart. Thus even as the sun softens and trees lose their leaves Relentless change overarches all we have grown to love. It touches bears and bees and myself who grieves For what I can know again only on the wings of a dove.