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A REFUGE FOR POETS WHO WRITE IN THE LYRIC TRADITION,
WITH RHYME AND METER, WITH OR WITHOUT MUSIC
SOLACE IN THESE WOODS
The leaves are falling on the stream.
The current carries them away,
Becoming like my fading dreams
More distant with each passing day.
My life is never what it seems.
I dare not trust what people say.
But I find solace in these woods.
There is no one to harm me here,
Where maple, beech and birch have stood
In silence for so many years,
Where every change is for the good,
I feel no sorrow, shed no tears.
I love a gentle autumn breeze
That bares the branches of the trees,
That shakes the leaves and brings them down.
They fall so far, yet make no sound.
I walk within the woods to seek
The autumn colors at their peak:
Red and yellow, orange and brown.
The leaves are lovely on the ground.
And I can shuffle through the leaves
Or tread more lightly, as I please,
At least until the sun goes down,
And in the twilight head for town.
Tonight I blow the fire aflame
And know that I am like a leaf:
No two of them are quite the same.
Life is fragile, life is brief.
Time advances without shame,
And death approaches like a thief.
Lake Placid, New York, 1998
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