Watchers

Mother’s witnesses keep diaries
On pages varicolored green.
They watch and they record
All that they have seen.

With patience they inscribe,
On sheets ovate and orbicular,
Our day-to-day routines
And activities extra-curricular.

Their voices, light and delicate,
So easily they blend.
We hear them only just
As whispers in the wind.

Each year the Watchers present us
With a cantata meant to inspire.
Oranges, reds, greens, and golds
Decorate this Autumn quire.

Each leaf, each page sung once,
It’s tone both sweet and bitter,
Has drifted slowly to the earth
Like Mother Nature’s litter.

As memories we’ve left behind,
So, too, these colors fade.
The bad we hope are gone for good,
The good we wish had stayed.

20 October 1996


I’m not posting this because I think it’s particularly good. It might be rubbish as far as anyone else is concerned, but I wrote it 21 years ago and still remember the feeling I had when I wrote it. Comments and criticisms would be welcomed and appreciated.

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