EMBODIED SEASONS 19930930
Pen in hand, thoughts a whirl
I hoard my discontentment like an autumn squirrel
Time slips right past, with no trace of guile
Save the turn of leaves quickening to become so fragile.
A horrified stasis, delivered on a chill breeze
Tells of an inescapable bond with these season stripped
trees.
The promise of youth, an immortality of illusion
Stark of lush cover reveal a skeletal framework of
Death's intrusion.
An unknown temper, a perishable mold
Leave me terrified and little defense against a long
winter's cold.
My brother trees, please answer me
If this frame falls to snow, in the awakening Spring
where will I be?
[© 1993 Joseph Wheeler, all rights reserved]