Saturday 26th October 2024 here in rural Portugal, following on the heels of an almost-summer like day, is bleak, wet and dreary so far… ideal weather to bring the muse in from the cold to pester me and insist that I write something apposite to the moment rather than get on with the 100 other more important things I have to get done… 🙂
The Fall
Looking out across the valley
a fool sits on his hill
Trying to see, ‘twixt air and earth,
if there’s a thing some call ‘God’s will’
His vacant eyes ignore the blackcaps
feasting on the golden fruits
While he wonders if ‘God’s will’
only prevails for those it suits
Or if staccato raindrops falling
from the edge of the window blind
Might send a coded message
holding wisdom he must find
Perhaps the low mist scudding
over fields so far below
Is shrouding an ancient secret
that only a few may know
The persimmon leaves, once verdant,
are ablaze with a russet hue
The breeze that fans their flames asks
“What does God’s will mean to you?”
While first leaves begin descending
just as Lucifer fell from grace
The leaden sky makes bleak reply
“We all know what we must face”
For the year is on its death bed,
its fiery Summer long since quenched
So the sky cries for impending loss
and everything is drenched
And the fool remains in reverie,
sad dreams of things he loved and lost
It seems perhaps it is ‘God’s will’ that
we must learn to count the cost
Of bridges that we set afire,
roads shunned, fences unmended
In hopes that we learn to forgive
before our own life, too, is ended
copyright © 2024 Al G Smith/algsmith.com