The sycamore seeds are softly spiralling

In their frivolously faltering fall,

Whilst gathering grey clouds are heralding

Arrival of the first autumn rainfall.

In the autumn of my life a gentle call,

From nature's splendour that's so enticing,

About the futility of it all…

A reminder of how time is passing,

How nature, when autumn's gone, turns austere

And how the grim winter collects its due…

But then… spring returns duly every year,

To kiss nature with vigour to renew.

I listen to the soft sound of falling leaves…

There's succour to the heart when it believes…

© P. J. Oszmann (2005)

© Illustration created in Photoshop (2005)