Pity me not,
as my leaves begin to fall,
burning embers
of blood red and pale gold,
quietly smouldering
as they gently float
down to a wet grassy bed
from whence they came.

Arms angled and wide
against a watercolured blue.
Naked and exposed
as my once vibrant cloak
blazes brightly
as it falls
peacefully away.

Weep not for this fading,
but celebrate my standing,
as winter’s hooves thud
ever closer.
on a darkening horizon.

Celebrate that I remain;
my true success
never what fruit or flower
I happily bore
to all who came near.

But that my unseen roots,
deeper and stronger became,
to endure again
these hard, cold times.
Patiently waiting
to channel creation’s great song,
and sing it even louder,
that next wondrous time
she so chooses.

(Poem taken from Beyond the Falling)