old dead leaves
falling from the trees
beautiful in dying
metaphoric you and me
becoming earth again
piled up to our knees
coloring the faded grass
blown by every breeze
autumn in the soul
we all will find one day
the Spirit blowing us around
as we learn our secret names
while we tread this realm of seasons
on this good earth taking part
holding on to His mysterious hand
during the winters of our heart
Our fear is tempered by our faith
death is but the final Door
to a thousand endless summers
to a spring forevermore
His face will be our sunshine
His grin our silver moon
His laughter our rock and roll
His presence our Brigadoon!
wkm
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