It rests upon the damp October clay,
A fragile shield of split and severed time.
One scalloped edge still holds the breath of May,
A vivid, pulsing green caught in its prime.
Here lives the dawn, the rush of rising sap,
The tender promise of a sky newborn,
A quiet youth held in a sunlit lap,
Before the heavier summer cloaks were worn.
But pass your gaze across the central vein,
Where emerald yields to deep, copper rust.
The other half has drunk the autumn rain
And learns the heavy gravity of dust.
It wears the wisdom of the closing year,
The coppered edge of letting go at last,
A brittle skin that holds no phantom fear,
Accepting that the canopy has passed.
A single leaf, yet two fierce worlds abide
Within the borders of its fading frame.
The push of life along the greener side,
The pull of sleep that autumn comes to claim.
We walk the earth just like this fallen crest,
Torn between the starting and the end,
Bearing both the fire and the rest,
Where what we lose is what we learn to mend.
Geraakt door deze tekst? Maak het hartje rood of deel de woorden met je vrienden.
Zo geef je mee een stem aan de woorden van deze schrijver.