The Pace Of The Walk

 

All the warm days pass

despite lingering will

kneeling and pleading

before the oncoming chill

turning green into gold

yellow, red, and brown

until one by one

they fall to the ground

 

Brittle weary old bones

in search of a fire

fan the waning embers

of dream and desire

bracing in dread

for that nip in the air

a warning reminder

of less time to spare

 

Dust settles in the cracks

hides in plain sight

from the fog and low vision

of the slow fading light

an uncertain certainty

in the tick of the clock

imparts aching wisdom

to the pace of the walk

 

 

s. paul (Nov. 2021)