spring days pass.
the moon orbits
returning each night to caress the opened soul of the earth
a gentler facet of harsh sunlight
the clouds carry their rain to the barren field
bending to feed new life in her plowed womb
If summer is blood red strawberries staining my lips—
fall will be snowflakes softly planted in my awaiting smile
If summer is toil and burning, growth and yearning—
fall will be bare feet dancing in scattered
leaves among cobwebbed trees
with only cornsilk and stars to freckle the harvest sky
If summer is pain—
fall is promise