Writer Dylan Morrison

The Fall

The Fall

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.

©dylanmorrison20/11/2014