Created
October 5, 2012 03:25
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Fall Sonnet
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So high attains this conflagration's sparks, | |
At last its work wrought through branch and limb, | |
A glory crowning for alighting larks | |
Who sing from which its solitary hymn. | |
I found a god this month with autumn's turn. | |
Its air and sunlight binds us soul to soul. | |
A chill of frost fills morning as an urn: | |
An ash of drops of vapor dark as coal. | |
With supplication pass I by this sight. | |
Try as I might I can't pin fall to sky. | |
How soon signs fail to mark in fading light -- | |
With hushing brights on cycling toward a sigh. | |
What starts so soft, a music spun with gold, | |
It can't last long; it can't withstand such cold. |
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