Of summers gone and yet to come

Of Summers Gone and Yet to Come

A gnarled trunk of gray and black

Rises stately from the ground

Its branches stretch some forty feet

To touch the somber skies above

Autumn leaves in shifting hues

Of crimson, gold, and amber brown

Cling loosely now to twig and limb

And shiver in the biting wind

The old tree sets them free to fly –

Carried on the rushing breeze

To swirl and whisk around my feet

Where in rustling voices softly speak

Of summers gone – and yet to come.