As autumn teases golden leaves to twist and fall,
one by one, our strengths and stories blow away
until we linger bare and brittle with the cold
and watch our possibilities betray.
And though the tiny yellow bird still finds
her rest amidst the naked gnarled limbs,
she flutters off to seek a warmer place
to spend eternal summertime.
And so it starts – this gradual decline,
that first we notice with regret;
but know we must surrender to its rhyme;
and seek a sheltered place not sullied yet
where weary minds meander through the maze
and sit, enchanted, in the garden of the heart.