autumn

A golden park

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park

Not far from where I live is a golden park,
Hidden from the reach of noise and crowds.
Within its boundaries grow wondrous trees,
Tall and wise who gently speak to me.
Theirs is not a language full of words.
They choose to speak through the swaying
Of leaves and branches, the snapping of twigs,
Through colours adorning blossoms of many hues.
Wrapped in natures sweet motherly scent and coat,
What they say is full of rhythm and harmony,
Always speaking of the virtues of love and peace.
From wisdom so deep comes their voice that,
Even the deaf can hear and the blind can see.
This one tree that everyday speaks to me,
In spring it whispers gently to remind me of
Natures love; pointing at the buds that bloom
And the rain that bathes and winds that soothes
And the shyness of the gentle loving sun.
By summer it speaks of joy and nurturing
As it basks under the sun’s passionate glow.
Tall, strong and proud it stands bearing a full coat
Of green swaying in the summer breeze.
By autumn it points to the end of bountifulness
And speaks of tears to come. Embracing the
Wind it reveals its inner beauty and grace,
Shedding light on tolerance and fortitude.
In winter stripped bare, wearing winters coat
It speaks of the secret of life and longevity;
Peacefully, silently, it stands listening to the wind.
Oblivious to its taunts it waits patiently, dutifully
Conserving every ounce of energy in readiness
For the awakening of the dormant sun to herald
The coming of spring and with it a new beginning.

J M Lysun