where we have been both sombre and perplexed

relieved in winter by the thoughts of light

in coming seasons knowing that the bright

hours that have passed will leave me no less vexed

than heavy cloud in this wintry context

of damp and rain and days that fade to night

with little notice nothing it seems is right

as we  engage to find out what comes next

this is the law by which our lives are bound

in lands both narrow and unseemly wide

to face the future with unsteady arms

in fainting hope of finding safer ground

not certain that there is a winning side

and listening for the end of all alarms

we leave behind the warm and easy pace

in places where the past remains awake

in swamp and cornfield for the old gods' sake

while modern wisdom does not show its face

except at urgent need the hot embrace

of constant summer overcomes mistake

in the fast living of each pool and lake

with ways of showing that there is still grace

what we approach is not as bright or bold

the subdued pallor of the northern skies

cannot approach the deep december blue

that give us cheer is kind and is not cold

announces promise yet contains no lies

but expectation of a future due

no name will matter at the very last

when all the pains we wandered for are done

in the last drops we crave of pallid sun

and the dark bones we hate are being cast

we'll smile and nod knowing we were outclassed

by those we taught who passed us on the run

not knowing that the game was not in fun

and soon they too will fade into the past

all that we know is just a tiny bit

of the whole tale a mere partial story

which each is given for their proper role

enough to play with some essay at wit

although we all wish the full of glory

not one of us can grasp the very whole

the forest echoes when the mahoe falls

tall is the tree and strong deep is its root

at end of day even the staunchest bawls

honest men speak against all that appalls

their work is constant though most rare its fruit

the forest echoes when the mahoe falls

for just one instant fools delay their brawls

and bow their heads honour may touch the brute

at end of day even the staunchest bawls

at loss of friend we make our little calls

shed our few tears and learn it's absolute

the forest echoes when the mahoe falls

whether in calmness of the lecture-halls

or broadcasting to folk on their commute

at end of day even the staunchest bawls

knowing the silence that finally hauls

his voice away we cannot refute

the forest echoes when the mahoe falls

at end of day even the staunchest bawls

edge cases are the ones we have to test

the bounds of who and how we are to know

not truly purpose but beneath it flow

with reason and direction to invest

both mind and fortune as at once possessed

before we're dragged down by the undertow

no hope of rescue since our hero's slow

while time is real and out here uncompressed

we need our little lies or so it seems

just to make sense of all the complex tales

read every morning on electric air

as we awake from satisfying dreams

not truly certain that we know what fails

nor why the trees are all now dry and bare

there's no returning from the sacred ship

that bears each victim from from the eastern shore

far out to westward where the oceans pour

past the world's edge and over freedom's lip

into the void we move at such a clip

that in a moment we're at the new door

and none is ready to assess the score

add up the bill and work out the full tip

enough of images it's time to scold

those who wait patiently with their critique

but cannot see the beauty in the pain

of torment in harsh sun and twisting cold

that tears the strongest heart and turns it weak

nor can it find true healing in the rain

today my thoughts are focused on the task

that is to come the duty that must be

not just for us but for what we agree

must lie behind the smile upon the mask

up we must get then while yet others bask

in remnant sunshine by the still-warm sea

no one is left upon a bended knee

to find a purpose you must simply ask

if scripture says a slave is due to serve

and must not raise his head above the rest

that's an obscenity and shall not stand

each has to get the honour they deserve

find out the hard way passage of the test

and win the garland with their own hard hand

after the rain i hear the ravens call

one sits a moment on the highest crown

of autumn hemlock then it wings on down

into the valley bringing on the fall

of hanging drops the evergreens are tall

in pale sunlight the day chooses to frown

upon my actions leaves are turning brown

on the wet lawn this cycle fulfills it all

inside the cat comes up to sniff my feet

fearful of noises from the great outside

but still desiring to know what is there

the sounds and silences of our small street

muffled so easily when we are inside

but sharp and carrying in the open air

steam on the mountain road just after dark

we've brought our geyser with us this one time

and laughter in the moment seems a crime

which choice is easy though the answer's stark

you have to wait until the proper bark

get back inside and get back on the climb

when you get home you will wash off the grime

and wonder why the effort left no mark

we pass those places where the words of craft

are spoken gently where old wisdom sits

and are not moved we can no longer stay

safe in our skins to do that now is daft

instead we joke and battle with our wits

on a cool morning we may see the dew

settled on grass as butterflies flit by

in mild september still the world is new

seasons must change and time will have her due

others will have their honest reasons why

on a cool morning we may see the dew

through the back window this calm sunday view

of houses road and the late summer sky

in mild september still the world is new

when we are happy and our pains are few

the task today is to rejoice not cry

on a cool morning we may see the dew

before it burns off while the sky's still blue

this moment fits so neatly in the eye

in mild september still the world is new

we taste once more the sweetness of the brew

knowing the truths that life may yet supply

on a cool morning we may see the dew

in mild september still the world is new