Autumn tears

Autumn tears

At Ashes ridge, in Autumn’s tears,
the straggled path
of understanding matures.
This regal gold is not ordained for wealth
but, disguised for growth
and revolution;
nothing is wasted.
The leafy carpet should be a sail
yet lies in early decay
its crisp reply to step of foot
or playful kick
destined soon to mouldered silence.
If I could wish a charm for you,
in forming years and nested love,
while adventure and perception meld,
I’d pierce reality
and stifle the rogues of hurt and care
that lie in the ambush of years.