Transitions




How many sultry summers
lend themselves to fall,
caught up in a fond farewell
waving goodbye to all

Sun is riding the crest once more
trapped one last final day
within the leaf, before the wind
has its final say

Wondering how many feet will travel
along this old dirt path
before the top is oil-slicked black,
and feels a weighty wrath

Thank God for the vision before me
of a view where time stands still
for the chance to seek the valley
or climb up top the hill

And thank you for the blue skies
to remind me when it’s gray
that I am not forsaken
for they’ll be back, someday



Now the mists are closing in
Old man winter is nearing nigh
and the sun will soon be hiding
only to peek in the by and by.