six

this errant scion of weathered limbs now fallen
here plays nipping with autumn’s chill whipping sprites;
that which was heavy as that sprung from birds lay made swollen
sheltered bower that groaned glorious in spring’s rites.

fickle beauty crisp of rusted vermillion once green’s ardour,
memoried in youth now anew alluring in this last dance;
one forced free amongst many from that high temple harbour
now supplicant before this my minds hearth by sure chance.

sun blessed with last benediction here brought to this fence
to sing sibilant twisting, proud of past happy things now
its voice heard in mortals ears and recorded ever hence
for unknown others in whose minds will past glory, glow.

soon then nature breaks this traveller upon times shores
and impending release from form and favour seems sweet;
to mulch and mould there releasing to feed new spores
this child of the green featured man releases final heat.

This ink that scratches pressed pulp thus to mark,
all in autumns thrall, yearn only tomorrow to hark.

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