A Poem

it is not the Fall that saddens

the honey-brown forest floor and black branch rivened sky
hold promise of a Spring
the sun is with us
and the birds of winter warm the yard

it is the Winter
we approach a Winter with no end but the abyss


we dwell not upon it
but within




so let us warm ourselves at the fire of the moment
and build that fire to make radiance the fruit of our existence

and in so living


never die






.