Yellow, yellow-- falling, so--
Life so swiftly, softly goes.
Light and shadow
Twist below.
A tree, perhaps, can stand alone,
Still yearning for a forest home--
Limbs ever reaching
Over frozen stones.
So, I love the stripping wind,
And still regard that scrape, as kind.
God rakes away
The useless rind--
And mountains stand, while edges call
And yellow teardrops gently fall.
Come lean into
His golden wall.
The season gathers flocks to flight
And lifts the darkening wind from white
Uncloaking dreams
Brought forth in night.
In this dream-walk, still we sleep,
And cast all yellow underneath--
The gold, untarnished
Thus, to keep.
--Abby Elizabeth Charland