Untitled poetry
By Fred Pulver
One day I went, when the first snow fell,
And ice laced the window sills,
The days grew short,
And squash leaves withered,
I walked among the falling leaves,
And heard them whisper as they fell,
Once verdant green, now blazing ochre,
“Please share my treasures for a spell.”
“I have yet to create such beauty,”
You did protest, awestruck by their abundant charms.
“If I could match them even half as well,
I’d be content.”
But I am too long from nature’s spell,
And, as such, am not ready
To leave behind such a fitting gift,
To honor a life that treated me well.”
“Peace, you have adorned this world
With many gifts, some too beautiful
To behold.”
But I, entranced by its perfect leaves,
Could not recall
When or how or in what form,
I could have done
What this tree did credit me
So preoccupied with mundane chores
Alone at last in my walk outdoors.
“By admiring me and my peaceful life,
You have shared your life with me,
And for this I am grateful,
Your life’s not in vain,
But gives meaning and purpose
To all you behold,
Hug me now, for I grow old,
And your love helps keep me from the cold.”
As I wrapped my arms around that tree,
It touched a place I wanted to be,
A child cherished, with my newfound friend,
In a brave old world without end.