WHISPERED PRAYERS

The seasons have their whispers;
the seasons have their prayers.

November has its moments;
November has its prayers.

The leaves have peaked. Pride
always comes before the fall.

Listen to the leaves – they make a lot
more noise than when they were alive.

It’s only time before they crumble.
Watch them as they do their death dance.

The trees stand tough. They just stiffen
their backs knowing there will be next Spring.

November brings me to the cemetery;
November brings me to thank my dead.

November brings me to my knees;

November makes me face my pride and fall.

The seasons have their whispers;
the seasons have their prayers.

© Andy Costello, Reflections, 2009