Brown tipped reeds gently wave in the pond
Blackbirds silently fly in retreat
Winds mildly gusting from the Artic north
Leaves softly trembling in the Fall:
Seasons pass through their rebirth cycles
But not the old man at the edge of the pond

Winter’s blasts in wind and rain
Will purge the earth it replenishes
As naked trees stand firm on guard
Waiting the sun’s undoubted return
Burrowing roots to nurture new life
But not the old man at the door of death

Spring will warm the slumbering roots
Burst the seeds that were scattered in Winter
Nurture fresh fledglings in far flung beds
As they’re born from the womb of earth
To service nature’s quest for rebirth
But not the old man whose future is barren

Red winged blackbirds nest
Filling the pond with song
Heralding the reeds green shoots
Welcoming Summer’s awakening
But not the old man’s reckoning
Of days left without renewal.

Born of the stars in the cauldron of the sun
Sprung from earth’s dust both alive and aware
Humans are each moment beware
Of passing into eternity
While contemplating the mystery
Of being present to nature’s summons.

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AJD 9/19/2017