Fall

By John Reed

The author lives in Utah.

I heard the call of winter
Born on the fading sky,
The solemn song of summer
With the sun began to die.

I watched the leaves glow brighter
Before the fading came,
The last and desperate flicker
Of a dying candle flame.

Cold, the lively wither,
Dead, the great ones fall,
Lonely, sings the winter
As we shiver at its call.

All things are doomed to die
And all are bound to fall,
To crumble into ash and earth,
The leaves that are us all.

But the ash that grows a flower,
The seed within the earth,
Bear fruit to never sour,
Death is nothing but rebirth.

Love begets its sorrow,
And sorrow begets love,
Born the brilliant Phoenix
From the ashes of the dove.

Weep not at the dying
Of fading field and fen,
Cry not at their passing,
For spring will come again.