|Just bought this little painting.|
Autumn happens gracefully.
Green leaves lighten up, turn orange,
get tired of clinging,
let go, dive,
fall, while dancing.
Trees stand firm in nonresistance,
unafraid of inevitable baldness and cold,
loss of limbs from weight of snow,
or changing identity
something else in someone's home.
Imitation gets harder as my own autumn unfolds,
though when young, grace was my goal.
the changing colors,
gravity's magnetic unkind pull,
my limbs creaking loud
forbidding me to dance.
Knowing it's best to let myself become
I often wage a tug of war,
so tightly I hold on.
But most days I'm brave.
I put fear in its place,
forget all about grace
hug the tree of life,
and carry on.
(Can you guess? Having a birthday this week.)
(Submitted to Dverse Poets and Poetry Jam.)