Seasons of Life

Fall is perhaps my favorite time of the year. Living in Maryland once again has helped me remember some wonderful falls when I was younger: walking around outside with the crisp air and all of the wonderful colors, jumping into a pile of freshly raked leaves, hayrides through pumpkin patches or just sitting inside by a raging fire.

Almost twenty years ago I wrote a poem that intrigued those who read it, because they thought it was rather morbid. It was never my intention for it to be so, but it was supposed to draw the reader to the newness that lies just beneath all of the decay that we see. Let me know what you think.

Content With Death
© Steve Poole

Although the wind outside is cold
It's warm inside with a blazing fire
I hear a fierce and mighty gust
And see some leaves of red and gold
As gently they fall, then rising higher
Descend to a shifting grave of rust

The wind will speak a stronger wail
Like music of an aspen branch
As death continues on beneath it
And then the snow I know won't fail
To plummet forth in a flashing lance
As death continues on beneath it

In places high atop Grand Teton
The white may lap to Mark Twain high
As death continues on beneath it
While children tromp and slip upon
The white beneath a placid sky
New life begins unseen beneath it

Although the wind outside is cold

It's warm inside with a blazing fire

I hear a fierce and mighty gust

And see some leaves of red and gold

As gently they fall, then rising higher

Descend to a shifting grave of rust