Copper cauldron of a golden fire
Lies carpeted beneath these passing feet
At one with earth’s Autumnal mire
As darkness fades its deathly light.
Days long gone when glory shared
With trees so tall amidst the joys
Of summer’s sensuous flight.
A letting go, a death has come
To woods forlorn and fearful of mad Winter’s chill
This sea of colour’s last waved show
For all who walk with eyes to see
And ears to hear the dwindling gasps of life
I wonder if,
When this scribe’s time has come
To lay aside the glory of his days
And words and songs of spirit heart,
When Self, its fateful journey drifting down
To earth and dust from whence it came,
Will some one stand on me and see
The Light that passed my way on sojourned path?
Shall Source return to lift me up
To Garden fields of Golden Light,
Where I shall join those joined to One
Who hangs on wounded tree,
Where I shall bend in Spirit Breeze
On endless boughs of Tree Of Life
And taste and see
That All is well
That Time has passed and gone.