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Servants of Old

as the summer evening fades

autumn weighs heavy on her leaves

pushing yellows and vibrant reds

through the greens.

sunset sets his watch

and takes his rest

a bit earlier each sleep,

as he allows the wind to blow him over hill

but not without a slow explosion;

a preview of autumn to come.

and every branch on every tree

waves goodbye in uniform to the warm,

and to the green; to all normal routine.

this ancient pattern of shedding,

written into everything man’s mind has missed,

we, the unknowing, the unwilling,

and the stalks stand testimony

to years of faithful service

they, you see, are servants.

Servants of Old


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